


Aftermath

by ImTheEveToYourAdam1



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 28,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImTheEveToYourAdam1/pseuds/ImTheEveToYourAdam1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Lambert, glam rocker and sex god extraordinaire, is returning home from a long period of touring.  His roommate and best friend Christine (Christie) anxiously awaits his return.  Self-harm is a ghost that will forever haunt Christie, and the day Adam returns home, this ghost rears its ugly head once more.  Clinging to life by a thread, and with a blood transfusion being her only chance at survival, will Christie pull through and learn a life-altering lesson in self-control, or will the consequences be fatal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! As you can tell by my more-than-clever username, I am Adam’s better half. ;) This is my first time posting anything on this website, or writing any kind of fan fiction at all, for that matter. This little beauty was conceived several months ago (like, allllll the way back in August/September) while I was one of my crazy Glambert fangirl YouTube sprees, finding every video of Adam and Tommy sucking each other’s faces off during “Fever”, and then proceeding to rape the poor “Replay” button over and over again. After a few deplorable bouts of writer’s block, which, thankfully, didn’t last long, this gem entered the world on December 17, 2010. And I couldn’t have been a prouder writer-mama. I’ve considered actually sending this to an editor/publisher, but then I realized that that meant that I would have to change Adam’s and Tommy’s names. So, for now, it stays with the ones who (I hope) will appreciate it the most. Reviews are my crack; please feed my addiction. If your offerings please me, I shall reward you with the prized Glambulge on a silver platter with a side of glitter. Be good to me! ;)

The ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor were cool against my bare legs, which, like the rest of my body, were on fire.  I was shaking all over and drenched in a cold sweat.  I felt like one of those drug addicts from the movies—bloodshot eyes, sweating, trembling all over—desperate for another fix.  No, it wasn’t a bottle, it wasn’t a needle, it wasn’t a pill, but it was something just as satisfying.  From across the room, I could just hear that blade whispering my name, taunting me, daring me to pick it up and make the first mark.  My vision blurred for several seconds and then focused back in on the razor.

It wasn’t even mine.  I had taken it from my roommate’s medicine cabinet.  He’d never miss it; he was rarely here anyway.  Adam was always out somewhere, whether it was some club in town, drinking and partying, or on his bus heading to some venue in another town, in another state.  He lived an outrageous lifestyle: one of glamour, sex, music, and God knows what else.  I got to go with him once; he had a two-night gig in New York City, and since he knew I’d never been, he took me with him.  Being on the road was a wild experience, alright—expensive hotels, crazed fans, sleeping all day and playing all night.  I missed him so much when he was away.  He was my best friend, almost like a brother, but sometimes a little more.

The apartment we shared was so lonely when he was away, too quiet.  I was so used to waking up in the morning to strong, aromatic coffee, the sound of his voice as he hummed under his breath or sang along with the radio that played in our kitchen.  I missed the sound of his laughter and I could barely dress myself in the morning anymore without my personal fashion consultant.

At first I was alright.  I was never one to have separation anxiety, but the days turned into weeks, and I sank back into a hole that had long since been filled and forgotten.  I wasn’t the stupid teenager who whipped out a razorblade the minute a situation went sour anymore.  With some serious counseling and mild antidepressants, I had basically returned to my old happy-go-lucky self.

Having graduated from college, I moved away from Minneapolis and took a cross-country road trip to California, where I had dreamed of making a life for myself since I was probably eight or nine years old.  I wanted to make it big in the music industry, but now here I was now, twenty-five years old, singing in a coffee shop and then bartending on the weekends.  Not exactly the “record label smash hit” that I’d been hoping for, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

No sooner had my bitter tears begun to fall and I willed myself to press the metal blade into my flesh, the apartment door opened and then clicked shut.  I froze.  Alas, in my panic, I had drawn a gruesome red line right down the middle of my right forearm.  It was a deep one, but it didn’t even hurt.  At first, it looked like I’d just drawn a long, thin line with bright red lipstick.  But within a matter of seconds, that innocent-looking crimson streak grew darker the longer it became exposed to the air, and it trickled fast down my arm.  I fumbled around blindly for some toilet paper or some tissues, something— _anything_ —to stop the bleeding before whoever had just walked in here found me.

I heard the _thud_ of something heavy—a bag maybe?—being dropped carelessly to the floor.  Quiet as a mouse, and with my good arm reaching out for something to clean up the mess I had made, I tried to push myself up out of my slouched sitting position.  Carelessly, I turned at the waist and used my right arm to brace myself against the toilet lid, and my arm gushed even more blood, that glistening, dark red, life-giving substance, the same stuff that could kill me if I lost enough of it.  I hissed as the product of my stupidity burned mercilessly and it was only when I heard the approaching footsteps that I dearly wished that I could take back that small cry of agony and swallow it back down.  As the hollow treads sounded on the wood floor, my breath hitched in my throat, and then I caught a familiar, unmistakable scent—sweet, somewhat spicy, and utterly intoxicating.  _It can’t be!_ I thought in disbelief.  _He—he’s not due home until…_   Oh, God.  What day was it?  Sunday.  It _was_ him.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit!  _I’m in_ so _much trouble now!_

Then another voice, that little Jiminy Cricket voice (what’s that called?) in the back of my head, said: _“Well, what did you expect, Christine?  Did you think you’d get away with it forever?  Did you think someone wouldn’t eventually find out?  Did you think HE wouldn’t find out?”_

Fresh tears built up behind my eyes and threatened to spill over again and I blinked hard to prevent them from falling, even though I knew that effort would soon prove futile.  I swallowed the California-sized lump in my throat and waited.  Whatever blood was left within me thumped in my ears, deafening me so that I could barely hear his footsteps anymore.  I felt cold now, numb, but I didn’t dare look down at my blood-soaked clothes.  Through my half-open lids, I spotted the toe of a snakeskin boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh, and just thought I oughtta add this sad, heartbreaking newsflash, just for the record, and so I don’t get in trouble—I don’t own these boys. *SOB!* But I’m working on it. It’s one of my official life goals.)


	2. Adam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so no one gets confused…the POVs alternate between Christie and Adam.

People think the life of a rockstar is all glam, glitz, and parties—well, I take that back, a lot of it is—but there’s a whole other aspect that they don’t see or understand.  It’s exhausting, it’s hectic, but above all, it’s lonely.  I mean, sure, I’m with my band 24/7, and we all clicked like _that_ , but it’s not the same as being able to go home at the end of the week to the one you love, eat a homecooked meal with them, lay around and watch TV, and then have really amazing sex.  You just don’t get that on the road.  What you get is people telling you what to do, fast food (and that’s pretty hard when you’re trying to take care of your physical appearance), crazy fans, and very little sleep.  Lucky us, we play about five shows a week, so that gives us some time to recharge.  Then again, there are always the interviews, TV appearances, and meet-and-greets, so after a while, Red Bull and Monster become your best friends.  But the traveling itself, even without the performing, is pretty tiring.  Naturally, I was thrilled when the tour took a month-long hiatus, and I could go home.  Back to California, back to the sun, back to the sand, back to my apartment, back to my bed, and back to Christie.

Now, don’t go getting all riled up; no, she’s not my girlfriend, you all know the deal.  One Adam Lambert’s sexuality was the center of entertainment media attention for weeks.  She’s my _roommate_.  We’ve been living together for just over a year now, and things have been great.  It was kinda weird at first because I think she was a little starstruck when she realized who I was.  At the time, she was a starving artist, just trying to get by with her open mic nights at the local coffee shops, and her bartending tips.  I, on the other hand, was starting out after “Idol”, which was almost like a dream, actually, and I was trying to get a record together, trying to make a name for myself.  A while back, I had placed an ad in the paper for a roommate.  About a week later, I got a phone call in response to the ad, and that’s when Christie came into the picture.  We split the rent, she bought the groceries and I took care of the laundry.  I informed her that I wouldn’t always be around, so she’d have to get used to being alone from time to time.  And she was cool with that.

Of course, there were times when I was home, and that was almost more difficult than being on the road, since I had a limited amount of time that I wanted to spend with so many people.  That time was either spent with her, my family, or Tommy.  Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.  She’s one of those girls that could get along with almost anybody, even a freak like me—the gay guy who runs around kissing his bassist on national primetime television and earning a “reputation” through leaked photos of cross-dressing and making out with guys.  When we had our first heart-to-heart chat, spilling anything and everything, I told her all these things and do you know what she said to me?  Ha, she said, “Adam, honey, there’s no crime in having a little fun with your life.  You just go ahead and kiss whoever you want, whether it’s Tommy, or me”—we both blushed at that, and she giggled, flashing that smile of hers that I love so much—“or, psh, the guy downstairs, for all I care.  And I could care less what you wear.  You wanna wear a dress every now and then?”  She laughs then, and her smile reaches her eyes.  “I’ll even go shopping to find one for you!”  But I declined, insisting that my drag days were over.

But nobody’s perfect, right?  Christie had some skeletons in her closet too.  I was only slightly surprised to hear this, since I had already noticed the faded scars that ran up and down her arms and the backs of her legs, and who knows where else.  I took her hand in mine, looked her in the eye, and asked, “Christine, what on Earth possessed you to do this to yourself?”

She wouldn’t look at me as she softly replied, “It was a long time ago.  I was…messed up, and I didn’t know how else to deal with how I was feeling.  I hated myself.  I thought I was ugly.  I didn’t deserve to be happy…” she trailed off.  “And so I hurt myself.  I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway.  I-I couldn’t help myself!”  Her voice cracked just then and I could tell she was trying hard not to break down.  That’s when she slowly turned her green eyes up to look at me.  “But I’m not that person anymore, Adam,” she whispered with a slight shake of her head.  “I’m not.”

I still held on to her hand, smiling sadly.  “I still don’t understand why… Chris, honey, _look at you_!”  I pulled her into the bathroom, turned her to face the mirror, and placed my hands on her shoulders.  “You are beautiful.  When I look at you, all I see is a beautiful, funny, sweet girl who made some bad choices, just like me, in order to find herself.  And look at me: I’m touring the country—touring the _world_ —with my band, making music, doing what I love, living my dream.  Do I have flaws?  Hell, yes!  Tons of ‘em!”  I placed my hand to her cheek.  “But you…you may just need a little more time.  It’s like that song goes: _‘Don’t be afraid of what’s inside,’_ ” I sang softly.  “ _‘Gonna tell ya, you’ll be alright, in the aftermath…’_ ”

And then the tears came.  She lurched forward and cried into my chest.  I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, gently stroking her light brown hair.  I felt her small frame trembling with sobs.  “Shhhh, it’s okay,” I whispered.  “Everything’s gonna be alright.”  I had no idea how wrong I would turn out to be.


	3. Christine

The razor slipped from my grasp and my head lolled to the side, resting against the wall, just as Adam walked into the bathroom.As soon as he looked down, his jaw dropped and he slid down onto the floor in front of me, and grabbed me by the shoulders.The knees of his dark-wash jeans were drenched in my blood.He shook me a few times. 

“Christie!”His voice sounded like an echo at the end of a tunnel.“Christine, look at me! _Open your eyes_!” he shouted, shaking me even harder.Finally, with a bit of effort, my eyelids fluttered open. 

“Huh…wha—Adam?” I mumbled, my speech totally slurred.“Wha’s go’n on?”I tried to lift my head, but it felt like a fifty-pound bowling ball, so I just let it rest back against the edge of the toilet. 

“I came home.Tour’s on a break for a little while.”He sighed, cradling my head in his hands.“What did you _do_?” he demanded gently, running his thumb down one of my tear-stained cheeks. 

I opened my mouth to talk, but all that came out was a nearly inaudible squeak.His blue eyes were full of sadness, regret, disappointment, and another emotion that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket, saying, “I’m calling an ambulance right now.You’re not gonna die on me.I won’t let you!”Heartbreak was evident in his voice.Once he ended the call, he looked into my half-closed eyes, and I tried to focus on him.“They’ll be here any minute, sweetie.Just “please, _please_ hang on,” he begged.“God, you’re so pale…” he murmured to no one in particular, I suppose, since I barely heard him. 

He moved closer and very carefully scooped me up in his arms and I rested my head against his chest.Adam softly kissed my forehead and I could’ve sworn I felt a tear drip onto my skin at that moment.I was right; when I looked up at him, his eyes were wet.I wanted so badly to wipe those tears away, even though I knew that doing so would only cause me to lose even more blood, but I did it anyway; I couldn’t stand to see him cry. 

“Hey, hey, what’s with the waterworks?Cut it out,” I insisted, aiming for a teasing tone, but I just ended up sounding pathetic.Adam cleared his throat and swallowed hard, and then forced a smile onto his face.I laughed weakly.“Heh, that’s better.” 

Suddenly, from outside, we heard the wailing sirens of the approaching ambulance. 

“Finally,” Adam sighed in relief, turning his head to look out the bathroom window.“You’re gonna be alright now, I promise.”He took my uninjured hand and brushed his lips against my knuckles. 

We heard the EMTs rushing up the stairs to our apartment.Luckily, we were located on the third floor, so we only had to wait a few minutes.“I’ve told them our apartment number, so I don’t have to leave you,” he said.I just nodded, closing my eyes for a moment.Then I heard unfamiliar voices. 

“How old is she?” 

“Twenty-five,” Adam replies. 

“Her height and weight?” 

“Uhh, I’m guessing about five-foot-four and about a hundred and twenty pounds, maybe.I’m not entirely sure.” 

“And you are…?” 

“Her roommate.”His tone was laced with urgency and desperation.“Please, we’ve got to get her out of here!Can’t these questions wait until we get her stabilized?!”I peered up at Adam, clutching his dark locks in frustration.His hands were slick with blood. _My_ blood. 

I felt one of the EMTs take my right arm gingerly in his gloved hands and wrap it tightly in some sort of white sterile bandaging.I winced at how tight it was. 

Suddenly, I was strapped securely to a stretcher and being lifted up and I instantly felt lightheaded and nauseous.Another EMT placed an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth.Then several heavy blankets were placed over me.I scrunched my eyes shut and took a few slow, deep breaths—in and out, in and out—to keep myself from vomiting.I felt like such a child when I reached for Adam, tears in my eyes, and choking on my breath.He immediately took my hand and squeezed it lightly.His attention was diverted by one of the EMTs calling his name. 

“Mr. Lambert, there wouldn’t happen to be an elevator nearby, would there?” one of them asked.“Perhaps one used for utility purposes?I don’t think we’ll be able to get her down the stairs like this.” 

Adam thought for a second and then replied, “There’s one down at the other end of the hall.It’s not very big, but I think we’ll be able to get her in.” 

Once we were downstairs, Adam and one of the emergency techs pushed open the double doors of our apartment building and the other two EMTs hoisted me into the back of the waiting ambulance.This entire time, Adam had never let go of my hand. 

“I can ride with her, right?” I heard him ask worriedly from outside. 

“Well, technically—” 

“Please.She needs me.”His body was slumped in exhausted resignation. 

There was a short pause and then a sigh.“Alright.” 

Adam swung himself up into the back of the ambulance and sat beside me on one of the bench seats.Everything started happening so fast; there were three EMTs in the back with Adam and me, taking my vitals and examining my injury.First, I was hooked up to a heart monitor—obnoxious sticky pads, wires, and all—and a blood pressure cuff was secured around my upper left arm.The oxygen mask was removed from my face and replaced with oxygen tubes that hooked around my ears.An IV was carefully inserted into the back of my left hand and I felt the cool rush of the saline solution in my veins and the metallic taste in my mouth. 

“Her blood pressure is extremely low,” one of the EMTs commented.“We need to give her a shot of epinephrine.Mr. Lambert, since Ms. Neumann is incapacitated at the moment, would you be willing to sign this consent form so that she may receive treatment from us and when she gets to the hospital?” 

Before Adam could answer, I placed my hand on top of his and whispered, “Yes.Just do it.” 

He took up the clipboard in his black-manicured hands and scrawled his name, initials, and the date on the form and then handed it back to the tech. 

When the epinephrine was injected into my IV and reached my veins, I felt as if I’d been shocked by a thousand volts of electricity.It stung like hell, but only for a minute.My breath hitched in my throat and suddenly my heart jolted and the beeping on my heart monitor picked up slightly.I heard Adam let out a deep breath, one I suspect he’d been holding for a while.I reached out to touch his leg. 

“You need to stop worrying,” I chided gently.“I’m going to be alright.”But the last part sounded more like a question.I groaned in sudden pain, all of my muscles tensing up, and I clenched my teeth. 

“Just try to relax, honey,” one of the EMTs instructed. 

I looked down then and my mouth fell open in shock.“Adam…” I whispered hoarsely.“It’s…there’s more…” 

Indeed, more blood was seeping through the sterile bandages.The EMTs noticed this immediately and applied more bandages on top of the soiled ones.Adam bowed his head—possibly in silent prayer, I don’t know—and he reached over and held onto my left hand again. 

Then, suddenly, as if in realization, he looked up at one of the EMTs and said, “She’s going to need a blood transfusion, isn’t she?” 

Their face was an emotionless mask.“Perhaps.If that’s even an option for her.” 

We arrived at the hospital soon after my bandages were reapplied; I was lifted out of the ambulance and rushed into the emergency room.Adam was at my side the whole time. 


	4. Adam

Once we arrived at the hospital, Christie and I were separated.  She was whisked away into another room to be examined by a horde of doctors, and I was left to sit in the waiting room, along with a mother and her gaggle of whiny, coughing kids, and an old woman with a broken wrist.  The mother eyed me cautiously; it was probably the hair and eyeliner that set her off.  I held my head in my hands, begging to whatever higher power there was that Christie would be alright.

Then a doctor in a white lab coat turned the corner and approached me.  A medical chart was tucked under his arm.  “You’re Mr. Lambert, I assume?” he inquired.  I just stared blankly back at him.  “I’m Doctor Lewis.  Christine is asleep now.  We’ve closed up her arm, but her vitals are failing.  She still desperately needs that transfusion.  If you—”

“I will.  I’ll do whatever it takes,” I responded immediately.  “Anything.  Just—just tell me what to do.”

“We’ll need to run a few tests to make sure that you’re a match.  The chances of there being any sort of complications are very slim.  But I must warn you, in this process, whether you two are a match or not, Christine’s life is even more at stake than it is now.  If you are in fact a match, you are also risking your life.  Is that a chance you’re willing to take, Mr. Lambert?”  The doctor’s face was very solemn, his mouth set in a tight line.  By now, he was sitting in the chair next to me.

Sighing heavily and raking a hand through my already messy and blood-caked hair, I said, “Look, Doc, time isn’t slowing down for her.”  I nodded toward the room, made entirely of glass windows, where Christie lay sleeping.  “If anything, it’s going in fast-forward.  I already said I would do it.  I don’t care about the risks or any of that shit, I just…”  I swallowed hard, trying to force the lump and stinging tears back down, save them for another time, “I’ll do anything— _anything_ —to know that she’ll be okay.”  I was growing more and more impatient with this guy by the second.  “Now, give me the papers, damn it!” I nearly shouted.

He fished the correct forms out of the manila folder that sat in his lap and I hastily signed Christie’s life over to him.  Again.  Once I had returned them to him and he had disappeared around the corner—to the lab, I assume—I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket and dialed Tommy’s number.  I needed to hear my Glitterbaby’s voice before I completely lost it and broke down, right here in the middle of this hospital waiting room.  By now, it was late evening, so I figured he’d be home.

“Mmm, hello?  Adam, is that you, Babyboy?”  His voice sounded scratchy and tired.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied, swiping at the tears that I hadn’t even noticed had fallen.  And he could tell by the tone of my voice that something was terribly wrong.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked concernedly.  “You’re crying.  You never cry.  So something’s definitely wrong.  Tell me.”

I choked on the sob that was lodged in my throat and confessed, “Christie’s in the hospital, Tommy.  She—something happened earlier today… _she cut herself_ ,” I finally managed, “and she’s in the next room, bleeding to death.  The doctors are doing everything they can, but I don’t think it’ll be enough.  We’re gonna try a blood transfusion—I’m giving her my blood—but…  Oh, god, Tommy, what do I do?!”  I was shaking with sobs now, and I was barely able to hold the phone to my ear.

“Alright, umm, I-I’ll be down there just as fast as I can, I promise.  Just hang in there, Babyboy.  Christie’s gonna be okay.”  But I heard the edge of uncertainty in his voice; he probably didn’t believe she’d make it through this any more than I did.


	5. Christine

The grogginess lifted just enough for me to notice some of my surroundings.  I felt the thin fabric of a hospital gown touching my skin, and as I tried to shift in my sleep, the wires of the heart monitors gave a sharp tug, so I stayed where I was, in an awkward fetal position.  My head was tucked down to my chest and I protectively clutched my injured arm, which was still wrapped securely in its sterile dressing.

Then the door to my room slid open and I heard a few pairs of footsteps enter the room.  Something cool and damp was placed upon my forehead; it was a welcome change from the alternating hot and cold sweat I was drenched in.  Apparently I’d been running a fever for quite some time, ever since the ambulance came.  A gentle hand was placed on top of mine, above where my IV had been inserted.  It took an enormous amount of effort just to open my eyes, which were heavy from my drugged slumber.  Suddenly I was blinded by a roomful of fluorescent lighting and I immediately squeezed my eyes shut again.  I heard the soft _click_ of a light switch and waited several seconds, gathering up more strength and some guts to reopen my eyes.  Luckily, this time the room was pleasantly dark, the only visible light coming from outside my room, and it was blocked out by the curtain that was pulled all the way around on its rod for privacy.  Then a soothing voice spoke:

“Hey, princess, how are you feeling?”  _Adam,_ I thought.  So he had stayed.  He was seated in a chair at my bedside and he squeezed my hand a little.  “Can you feel that?” he asked softly.  I just hummed in response.  He dabbed at my brow with a wet cloth and then brushed away some of my hair that was stuck to my forehead with sweat and then he pressed a kiss to my temple.

I blinked to clear the blurriness and opened my eyes a little more.  I noticed another person in the room, leaning against the wall—he was slender but lean, dressed in a black-and-white-striped hoodie and black skinny jeans, with a mop of white-blonde hair with black streaks, and bangs falling over one of his big brown eyes.  I knew that face.

“Tommy?” I asked hoarsely.

The petite blonde strode over to where Adam was sitting and knelt down beside him.  He brushed the back of his hand down my cheek.  “Hey, Glitterstar.  Adam told me what happened.”  He sighed and a small crease formed in his brow.  “Everybody’s pretty worried about you, ya know.”  I nodded slowly.  My head was reeling from dehydration and colored dots swirled before my eyes and I just wanted to scream.  “Adam tells me they’re gonna try a blood transfusion.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.  “But I don’t—”

“It’s going to work,” Adam insisted again, more forcefully this time.  “And you’re going to be just fine.  Then we’ll go home, and I’m gonna find a place where you can get some help.”

Closing my eyes, I let out a defeated breath, knowing full well that Adam would never listen to me.  But I knew better than him that I didn’t have much time left, even if I did get the transfusion.  He might know that too, but he was obviously in a serious state of denial.  So I just smiled a little, not wanting to upset him any further, because I was pretty sure that once Tommy got a hold of him, he’d set him straight pretty quick on what was realistic and what wasn’t.

“Do you want something to drink?” Adam asked me.  “I can ask a nurse if you can have some juice or water.”

“Just ice chips,” I croaked out.  “If I drink anything, I swear I’ll puke it up.”  He chuckled a little at that.

“Ice chips it is, then.  I’ll be right back.”  He ducked behind the curtain and went out into the hall, leaving Tommy and me alone in the room.

No sooner had Adam left, there was a soft knock on the wall, and a nurse pulled back the curtain to my room.  “May I come in?” she asked hesitantly.  I nodded.  She entered and continued, “Ms. Neumann, I need to obtain a sample of your blood to see if you and Mr. Lambert are a match for your transfusion.”

I glanced at Tommy and he just nodded.  “Okay.  Go ahead,” I consented softly.

“Do you wanna hold my hand?” Tommy asked, grinning a little.

I giggled but reached for him anyway.  I felt the tourniquet being snapped and tightened around my arm.  The nurse flicked at my veins until she found a “good” one and said, “Little stick, honey…  Ready?  One…two…”

“Just look at me,” Tommy whispered in my ear.

I locked my eyes on him and squeezed his hand as the needle punctured my skin and I felt a slight tugging sensation as the blood was drawn out of me.

Pieces of gauze and paper tape were simultaneously placed over the crook of my arm as soon as the needle was removed.  I sighed and looked away from Tommy, letting go of his hand.

“Thanks, honey,” the nurse said as she packed up her little box of supplies.  “You were a brave girl.  We’ll have the results in a little while.  Your tentative donor will be going down to the lab shortly for his blood test as well.  Since you’ll be here at least overnight, we’re going to move you to a room upstairs after Mr. Lambert returns from the lab.  Once the results are in, and in the case that the two of you are a match, we can begin the transfusion.”  Then she left the room, and Tommy and I were alone once again.

“I think you broke my hand,” he muttered, looking down to inspect it.  I snorted and batted at his shoulder.

“Liar,” I retorted playfully.

The bassist got up from his crouched position and asked, “Mind if I sit?”

“Nah, go ahead.”  I patted the side of the bed.  He scooted close and then there was a long moment of silence.

“Are you scared?” he asked quietly, looking down at his hands, which were folded in his lap.

“Yeah.  Like, you can’t even imagine,” I said with a bitter laugh.  I paused for a long moment.  Finally I looked up at him.  “You don’t think the transfusion will work, do you?”

He was silent.  “No,” he whispered sadly with a shake of his head, meeting my eyes.  “I don’t.”

“Me neither,” I agreed.  “But Adam…I think he _wants_ to believe that it’ll work, but deep down, I think he knows better.  I just don’t understand why—”

“Christie, don’t you see?” Tommy interrupted.  “He wants to think that way because he loves you too much to let you go.  He wants to keep you here with him for as long as he can.”  I could see tears glistening in his dark eyes.

“Sounds like a pretty selfish kind of love, if you ask me,” I scoffed.

Tommy managed a small smile.  “Yeah, well, that’s Adam for you.  He’s kinda always been a little selfish in the love department.”

“But if he really loves me, he’ll _let me go_.  He can’t keep me here forever, Tommy, especially like this.  We all know that I don’t have much time left anyway.  It—it’s just not fair…” I whimpered, my voice catching in my throat.

“Aww, c’mere, Chris.”  Very gently, Tommy slid his arm under my back and lifted me up into an embrace, careful not to mess with my right arm.  “I know.  I know, you’re scared,” he whispered.

I rested my chin on Tommy’s shoulder and turned my face into the side of his neck and cried.  He placed a hand on the back of my hair, which was tangled and matted down with dried blood and sweat.  My muscles were stiff, and I could feel my heartbeat slowing by the minute.  I might be afraid to die, but maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so scary if I had the two people I cared about the most with me when the time came.


	6. Adam

As I made my way toward the nurses’ station, I was stopped in my tracks by Doctor Lewis, the resident in charge of Christie’s care.

“Mr. Lambert, I’d like you to come to Radiology with me,” he said.  “We need to run a few of those tests we talked about to see if you and Christine are a match for the transfusion.  I’ve already sent a nurse down to obtain a sample of Christine’s blood.”

My heart raced eagerly as I followed him down the hall, around two corners, and through a set of double doors.  Once we had arrived, I was taken to what couldn’t have been much bigger than a twelve-by-twelve room.  It was filled with several different medical tools, although the first thing I noticed was a pair of metal cabinets with glass windows, revealing plastic bins of vial upon vial of blood.  I immediately averted my eyes and braced myself against the arm of a chair in the room to keep myself from fainting.  No wonder Tommy hated hospitals; this place was creepy!  And I had just developed a new phobia—of blood.  I recalled being about five or six years old and I had to get my blood drawn at the doctor’s office.  My mother and two nurses had to hold me down as another nurse struggled to get the needle into my vein to obtain the sample.  I laid there, pinned to that table like a captured wild animal, kicking and screaming.

I gulped loudly as I watched the pretty platinum blonde phlebotomist enter the room with a small box of empty vials, needles, and gauze, among other things.

“Well, well, well,” she purred.  “Mr. Adam Lambert, as I live and breathe!”  Clearly she was a fan.  “Never could I have imagined that I would one day have the pleasure of sucking you dry.”  Her mouth was curved up in a tiny smirk, as if to answer herself with _“That’s what she said!”_

I grinned a little, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, and eased myself back into the raised chair.  She set her supplies down on the counter next to me and, against my better judgment, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she prepared the syringe, tiny vials, and a tourniquet.  My eyes bugged out of my head as she secured the tourniquet just above the crook of my arm.

“So what’re ya in for, if you don’t mind my asking?” she said as she attended to the task at hand.

“Transfusion,” I answered monotonously, staring blankly at the floor.  She turned to look at me, eyebrows slightly raised.  “Oh, not me!” I quickly corrected myself.  “I’m…donating.”

“Aww, good for you!” she chirped.  “See, we need more people like you, Adam.  Some of our donations even come from dead bodies.”  I shuddered.  “Or four-legged critters.”

“You can _do_ that?” I asked in surprise.

“Oh, sure.  We don’t do it very often, of course, but it happens on occasion.”  She cleaned a spot on my arm with an alcohol swab.  “My name’s Jess, by the way,” she said, lightly smacking my veins.  Then she took up a syringe and connected it to a vial.  I gulped again and a laugh rolled out of her throat.  “I’m making you pretty nervous, aren’t I?  You really need to calm down, honey,” she said, trying to stifle her laugh.  “It’s just a needle.  Don’t be such a baby.  Now, _relax_.  You’re gonna feel a little poke…”

No sooner had she said this, I blacked out, my head slamming forward on the padded armrest that folded over the front of the chair.  She must’ve been new because she started to panic.

 _“Oh, my god…  Alex!” she shrieked, leaning out the doorway.  “You better get in here!  I-I think I killed him!”_

 _A young Hispanic man wearing dark blue scrubs breezed into the room.  “Jesus Christ, Jess, what the hell did you—”  Upon seeing the unconscious Adam, Alex heaved a sigh of annoyance.  “Oh, for God’s sake!  What did you do to him?!”_

 _“I didn’t do anything!” Jess wailed.  “I didn’t even stick him yet!  He just saw the needle and he just…”  She gestured to her unconscious “victim.”  She looked like she was about to cry as she put the syringe back down on the counter._

 _“Aw, damn it, gimme that thing!” Alex grumbled, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before sliding the needle into Adam’s arm.  Within a few seconds, four vials were filled and capped off.  “There,” he huffed, removing the tourniquet.  “Now.  Think you can wake him up without killing him?”_

 _“Oh, stop bein’ such a dick already!”_

 _Alex stormed out of  the room, leaving Jess alone with Adam.  She inhaled nervously and got down on his eye-level.  “Adam,” she said, “I need you to open your eyes.”  He remained silent and unresponsive.  She tried again, louder this time, and shaking him a bit.  “Adam, wake up!” she commanded.  “Come on, open your eyes!”_

Now I knew how Christie felt: wanting so badly to wake up and remove herself from this haze but being completely unable to do so.  I groaned and turned my head slightly.  I felt someone’s hand on my arm and I opened one eye.  It was Jess.  She was crouched down in front of me, a very worried look on her face.

“Oh, thank God, you’re awake,” she said, relieved, and placing a hand over her racing heart.  “I thought I’d killed you!”

I laughed a little and slowly lifted my head.  “Well, then, I guess I saved you a lot of misery, huh?”

“You sure did.”  She lifted the armrest of the chair so I could get down.  “Do you think you can walk?” she asked.  I tried to get up but then clumsily flopped back down in the chair.  She chuckled.  “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

I held my head in my hands.  “Ugh, I’m dizzy…”

“I’ll go get you some juice,” she offered.  “Your blood sugar probably just plummeted, I’m guessing.”

 _Juice…  Oh, my god, the ice chips!_ I thought just then, my head flying up.  I felt another tremendous rush of blood to my head and I cradled it in my hands again.  “Yeah, juice would be nice, thanks.  And do you think you could get some ice chips for me too?”

“Oooh, a little greedy, are we, Mr. Lambert?” she teased, putting a hand on her hip.

“Not for me,” I replied.  “It’s for a friend.  She’s down the hall.  She’s pretty sick.”  I regretted letting the last sentence slip and my face burned.

She nodded in understanding and left the room.  A few minutes later, Jess returned with two Styrofoam cups: one filled with apple juice and another with ice chips.  She’d thrown in a packet of saltine crackers for good measure.

“Thanks,” I said with a grateful smile.

Eager to return to Christie’s room, I swallowed the juice in two gulps.  I sat in the chair for a moment longer, waiting until the lightheadedness subsided, and then I tested my legs to make sure they wouldn’t give out from under me again.  They were still a little shaky, but I figured that if I went slow, I could make it back to Christie’s room in one piece.

Before I left, I gently took Jess by the sleeve, pulled a pen from my pocket, and scribbled my name on the light-colored fabric.  “That’s for taking care of me.  I’m sure my friend will appreciate it.”

She glanced down at her sleeve and blushed as a huge grin spread across her face.  “Well, I’m just doing my job.  You know that.  And I hope your friend gets better soon.”

I was silent for a while before I replied, “Yeah.  Me too.”  I collected the cup of ice chips and the crackers and left to go back to Christie’s room.


	7. Christine

Tommy was almost asleep on the edge of my bed while I just laid there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling.  Time passed, and I kept wondering where Adam was.  _Where is he?  It shouldn’t be taking this long,_ I thought to myself.  Just then he pulled the patterned curtain aside and slowly walked into the room.  He stopped abruptly when he saw Tommy lying beside me on the bed.

“What the—”

Tommy’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright, and he helped me into a sitting position too, placing a few pillows behind my back for support.

“You’re back,” I said, slightly surprised.  “What took so long?”

“Long story.  But I’ll tell you what, this transfusion better work because I just went through a lot of crap for you, all for them to just get a tiny sample to test and me to pass out in the process.”

My mouth fell open at the tone of his voice and his choice of words, and Tommy scooted off the bed and went to retrieve the ice chips, but Adam jerked them out of his reach.  “I’ll take care of that, if you don’t mind,” he said curtly.

Tommy backed down and went to sit in the chair underneath the TV that was mounted on the wall.  Adam took his place in the chair next to my bed.

“Got your ice chips,” he said triumphantly.

“Yeah, ‘bout time,” I laughed.  I glanced over at Tommy, who sat with his hands between his knees and his head bowed a little.

Adam took a few pieces of ice out of the cup and placed them in my mouth.  I didn’t chew them right away, just let them melt and sooth my dry, aching throat.  Once I had swallowed the cold, satisfying liquid, I opened my mouth again, much like a baby bird waiting for its mother to feed it another worm.  This time I slowly chewed the small chips.

“I got you some crackers too, if you think you can keep something down,” Adam commented.

“M’kay.  While you were gone, a nurse came in to draw my blood”—Adam paled at the word—“and she said that I’ll get moved to a room upstairs after we find out the results of the tests.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asked.

“If you want to.”

“Ya know, Adam,” Tommy finally spoke up, placing his hands on the armrests of his chair and gripping them until his knuckles turned white, “maybe she’d like the _both_ of us to stay.”  Even in the dark, I saw something flash in his eyes.  Jealousy, perhaps?

“Oh, I don’t know, _Thomas,_ ” Adam spat.  “Why don’t we let Christie decide, shall we?”  He nodded in my direction.

I shook my head in frustration.  “Oh, Jesus, don’t do this,” I sighed tiredly, “Look, you guys, I’m not in the mood to do this and, frankly, I’m too tired.  So all I’m gonna say is this: if you’re gonna fight, you can both just leave.  I don’t want either of you here if this is what you’re going to do.  So really, it’s _your_ decision.  You can choose to behave and you can stay, or you have to leave.”  I looked from Adam to Tommy and back at Adam again.  “Your choice.”

They were both quiet for a long time.  Adam stood and said, “Christie, we’ll be right outside.  We’ll be back in a minute.  Just yell if you need anything, okay?”  I nodded.  And then they were gone.


	8. Adam

“What is the _matter_ with you, man?” I snapped as soon as we stepped out of Christie’s room and out of earshot.  “Why are you being like this, huh?  You know she can’t take shit like this right now.”

Tommy just shook his head and went to sit down on a nearby bench.  “This is hard for me too, y’know,” he argued.  “I mean, she’s sick, you’re gone.  You’re not yourself anymore, baby.”  The anger in his eyes melted away, revealing an overwhelming sadness.

“How can I be myself when one of my best friends is _dying_?” I cried, flinging my hand in the direction of Christie’s room.  “Tommy, there’s a ninety-five-percent chance that she’s not gonna walk out of this hospital.”  I paused.  “And you know why?”  Tommy just stared back at me.  “It’s because I wasn’t there for her!  If I’d been at home, none of this would’ve happened.”  I hung my head guiltily.

My glitterbaby stood up and walked over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders.  “Listen to me, Babyboy,” he said softly.  “Even if you had been there, this probably would’ve happened anyway.”

“Don’t say that!”  I tried to back away, but his grip was firm and he didn’t let go of me.

“You know she had self-harm problems when she was a teenager.  Sooner or later, stuff like that is bound to recur.  No matter how much you want to, it’s not necessarily something you can prevent.”  Tommy paused for a second, then added quietly, “You know she doesn’t want this.”

My head jerked up and I glared at him, jabbing a defiant finger in his face.  “I don’t care!  _I_ signed those papers.  Don’t say anoth—”

“And you know the only reason you’re doing this is because you’re too afraid to let her go.  Adam, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t mess with fate.  You can’t keep her here forever, if that’s not what’s supposed to happen.”

I felt like I’d just been slapped.  I stood there, gaping openmouthed at him, my eyes wide with shock.  “Tommy, how could you—”

“You know it’s true.”  His voice was stern and dangerously quiet.  After a very uncomfortable silence, he added, “If you love her, Adam, you’ll let her go.”  He sat down on one of the nearby benches, his back turned to me.

That’s when I turned to face him.  Tears stung my eyes as I stared, brokenhearted, at my pixie-like boyfriend.  How could someone so small have so much power inside?  But that’s when everything gave way and I finally collapsed down next to him on the bench.

“Still.  I just…I don’t understand why she—”  I felt so helpless as I rested my head on Tommy’s shoulder.  He hugged me tightly and kissed the corner of my mouth.

“I know, it hurts.  It hurts me too.  You may not think so, but it does.”  He leaned up and, with his thumbs, wiped away my tears and more of the smudged eyeliner that rimmed my eyes.  “But she needs us to be strong for her now, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do, no matter how hard it is.  You hear me?”

I nodded.  “I hear you,” I said.  “And I’m sorry for being such an ass back in there.”

Tommy gave me a tight-lipped grin.  “It’s okay.  I understand why.  Just know that I’m here for you, and I’m here for Christie too.  Alright?”

Then I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, letting another bout of tears fall from my eyes.  He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly on the mouth, briefly flicking his tongue inside.  I smiled into the kiss and pressed harder, closer to him.  I missed this.  I needed this.  And in a way, I think he did too.


	9. Christine

A few minutes later, Adam and Tommy reentered the room hand-in-hand, just as a pair of orderlies arrived to take me upstairs to a room, where I would stay for the next few days.  The stretcher jolted as they unlocked the brakes and pushed it forward a few feet.  My head reeled at the sudden movement but calmed down as soon as it started moving smoothly across the linoleum floor.  Adam guided the pole that my bag of fluids was attached to, trying to keep it as close to me as possible in order to refrain from tugging on my IV.  Tommy followed close behind as we made our way down the hall to an elevator.

When we reached the fifth floor of the hospital, I was taken into a bigger room—light turquoise walls, mauve curtains, a television, and a nightstand and closet.  The lights were off (thank God) and I was helped over from the stretcher to the turned-down bed.  The sheets were starched stiff but they felt crisp and cool and I sighed deeply as my head hit the cloudlike pillow.  I took up the control that had a nurse call button, TV controls, and a few other switches to lower or raise the head or foot of the bed.  I pressed my thumb to that particular button, raising the head of the bed to a forty-five-degree angle.  An orderly plugged my IV into an outlet in the wall while Tommy covered me halfway with the blanket on the bed, and Adam set the cup of ice chips on the nightstand.

Just as the orderly was leaving, I moaned loudly in pain.  Tommy and Adam were instantly at my side.  “What’s wrong?” they asked.  “What hurts?  Should I get a nurse?”

I whimpered and began trembling as I looked down at my arm, which, once again, was bleeding through the bandages.  So much for trying to sew me up, Doc!  I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth, trying not to cry out.  “Push…the red…button…” I gasped as hot tears poured down my cheeks.

Then I heard a voice through the speaker in the control say in a dull tone, “What do you need?”

“Please send a nurse in,” Adam demanded.  “Right away.”  The speaker clicked off and I opened my eyes.  Adam gripped the railing of my bed as Tommy sat hunched over in the rocking chair a few feet away.  His hands covered his face, and I wasn’t sure if he was crying or not.

The door to my room slammed open but I didn’t open my eyes.  “What’s wro—” a nurse began, but she stopped suddenly.  I assumed that she had just seen that I was bleeding again.

She set to work right away, unlocking one of the cabinets, taking out two small bottles of medicine.  She took out a couple of syringes, loading each of them up with the medications.

“This one,” she said, “is your morphine.  It should help with the pain.  And this one will thicken your blood, and hopefully slow, or even stop, the bleeding.”

She injected the morphine directly into my line, and within a few seconds, my whole body felt numb and somewhat itchy, and my throat seized up a little, making it difficult to breathe.  I inhaled deeply through the oxygen tubes.  My eyes were closed the whole time, and the pain quickly subsided.  The other medication, however, was run through my infusion pump over the course of half an hour.  I heard Adam get up and walk toward the door, speaking to the nurse in a low voice.  I didn’t care, though.  Whatever it was, it probably wouldn’t end up mattering anyway.  When I opened my eyes, Adam was gone.  I looked over to where to Tommy was, and he was already making his way over to my bedside.

“Where’s Adam?” I asked weakly.  Tommy took my hand in his and brushed his thumb over the back of it.

“He went out to speak with the nurse, and hopefully get a hold of one of the doctors.  Apparently the results of your blood tests are in, so we’ll know soon whether or not you two are a match.”

I felt my body grow cold and my eyes widened in fear.  “What if—?”

Tommy just slowly shook his head.  “Glitterstar, I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” he sighed.  He pushed away a piece of white-blonde hair that had fallen into his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.  He bit his lip before adding, “But whatever happens, we’re both gonna be right here with you.”

I smiled gratefully as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.  “Thank you,” I whispered, refraining from speaking louder because I was afraid my voice would crack.

Suddenly Adam entered the room, grinning widely, with a nurse and the same doctor from the ER in tow.  “We’re a match!” he announced excitedly.


	10. Adam

Anticipation and hope bubbled in my chest as I made my way down the hall to the nurses’ station at the middle of the ward.  On my way there, the doctor who’d examined Christie caught my eye and I pulled him aside.

“Do you have anything yet?” I asked anxiously.  It wasn’t until Dr. Lewis started speaking that I realized that I’d been holding my breath.

“Yes,” he replied confidently.  “And the two of you are a match.”

A huge grin exploded across my face.  “Well, then, we need to get started right away,” I insisted.

Dr. Lewis walked back to Christie’s room with me.  “Now, Mr. Lambert, I understand that Christine is against the idea of this transfusion altogether…”

“I know she is…but Doc, we’ve at least gotta try this.”

“Once again, I impress upon you the giant risk the two of you are taking—”

A vein was pulsating in my forehead and I clenched my fists at my sides.  I briefly closed my eyes in an effort to keep my cool and not explode on this guy.  He was, after all, just doing his job.  But this constant reminding of his was really, really starting to bug me.  I knew the risks, I knew what I was getting myself into, and I knew that Christie’s life really was at risk now, especially if the transfusion didn’t work, in which case, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

“Very well,” Dr. Lewis agreed finally.  “We’d better get started, then.”  He called for a nurse to bring in the necessary supplies for the procedure and the three of us returned to Christie’s room.

Tommy had finally stopped crying and he sat silent and motionless at her bedside, looking almost as pale as she did.  I swallowed hard, saying a quick prayer for this whole thing to go off without a hitch.  I put on a brave smile and took Christie’s hand, reassuring her that everything would be alright.

She sighed, doubt evident in her eyes.  “Adam,” she said.  “I…you…”  She scrunched her eyes closed for a minute, probably trying to fight off tears.  “Thank you,” she whispered shakily, brushing the top my hand.

I just nodded.  Now the bravery and self-assuredness I had previously felt was slowly falling away and my heart started to race.  I placed a hand over my chest, trying to still the uncontrollable palpitations.

An orderly rolled a stretcher into the room and placed it next to Christie’s bed.  I slowly sat and swung my legs up so I could lie down.  A pillow was slid under my head and I tried to relax.  I took a deep breath, but that didn’t seem to help.  Dr. Lewis left the room at the same time that a nurse entered.

“Ahh, Mr. Lambert,” the older woman greeted me, recognition in both her voice and her eyes.  She was short and slightly plump—the typical grandmother sort—with her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun.  Wrinkles rimmed her kind blue eyes and her lips were surprising full for a woman of her age.  Her nametag read “GINGER” and it had her picture on it.  “Your presence has caused quite a stir here today.”  She smiled.  “My granddaughters love you,” she added.  “They’re right; you’re very handsome, indeed!”  We both smiled at that.  “Of course,” she laughed, “they refer to you as a ‘sexy rock god’.”  She blushed slightly and I laughed even harder.  I heard Christie giggle from her bed a few feet away.

“Maybe I could give you my autograph to give to them,” I said, reaching for the notepad and pen on the nightstand.  She told me their names, and on the pad, I scrawled, _“To Allie and Madelyn—you guys rock!  Love, Adam.”_   I sketched out a heart at the end of the message.  “Here, keep this,” I added, holding the pad out to her.  She tucked it into the pocket of her flowered blouse and smiled appreciatively.

“Now,” she said, all business.  “Let’s get the show on the road, shall we?  I’ll need to take your vitals first, of course.”  She fastened a blood pressure cuff around my upper right arm, thrust a thermometer under my tongue, and clipped a blood-oxygen monitor to my fingertip.

Then I stiffened and blanched when I saw her pull a needle, syringe, and a few tubes from her little box of supplies.  Bile started to rise in my throat and I willed myself not to pass out again.

“Nervous, are we?” she chuckled, smiling a little.  “Don’t worry, this’ll only sting for a second, I promise.”

She readied to snap the tourniquet around my arm and just as the latex strip touched my skin, I said, “Wait!”  She looked up briefly.  “I—I had a really bad experience the last time this happened…” I confessed, blushing furiously.  “Could I...could I hold someone’s hand?”  God, I felt like such a _child_ when I said that, but if I didn’t, I was bound to have a repeat of what happened earlier in the lab.

“Sure, baby,” Tommy said, getting up from his chair and kneeling down next to me.  He grabbed my left hand and I took a deep breath and squeezed his hand hard when the needle pierced the sensitive skin in the bend of my right arm.  Once the tiny catheter had been inserted and the needle was extracted, I let out the breath I’d been holding and rested my head back against the pillow behind me.

Ginger bent down further and hooked a few bags that were meant to collect my blood to a low pole.  After that, she connected me with more tubes that attached to the bags, and my blood began rushing through the tubes and dripping into the bags.  I had to look away; I couldn’t stand to watch my own blood being drained out of me.  But I knew that what I was doing was the right thing, and knowing that made me feel a whole lot better.


	11. Christine

As I watched Adam being hooked up to all those wires and tubes—ultimately he ended up looking not much better than I did—I couldn’t help feeling this overwhelming sense of guilt.  I laid there on my bed, thinking, _“If I hadn’t done this in the first place, we wouldn’t have to be here.  HE wouldn’t have to be here, risking his life to save mine.  And all because I made a really stupid, selfish choice to put myself out of my misery.  Well, I think I ended up causing myself more misery than less.  Of course, if he hadn’t left, I never would’ve had to do this to myself in the first place.”_

I grimaced at that last thought.  Then Mr. Jiminy-Cricket-Conscience-Man interrupted me, saying _“Now, don’t pin this on him, Christine.  He’s just trying to help.  This is a product of your own foolishness; he had nothing to do with it.”_

The rest of my thoughts blurred and swirled together when I was given another shot of morphine, somewhere between one and two o’clock the next morning.  The drug warmed and numbed me all over, and I became almost completely unaware of my surroundings.  My face flushed hot for a few minutes and my whole body felt prickly everywhere.  I turned my head to see Adam asleep in his bed and Tommy wide awake in the chair across from us, fiddling around on his iPhone.  I never realized before how peaceful Adam looked when he slept—his inky locks were tousled and some of the pieces had fallen into his face; one of his arms was slung over his head, exposing his Eye of Ra tattoo; and every now and then, he would stir slightly or mumble some incoherent sentence in his sleep.

Me, I was wide awake the whole time.  Even though I was dreadfully exhausted, I just couldn’t sleep.  I don’t know, maybe it was the anxiety or the paralyzing fear of the unknown.  Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to know what was going to happen, whether it was the ending of a story, the outcome of a movie, or a grade that I would get on a test.  But this wasn’t a test, and it certainly wasn’t a movie.  This was my life.  And even though I had never believed in God, I found myself praying so hard that things would turn out right.  What did “right” mean anyway?  Maybe I’m supposed to die.  Or maybe this is just some humongous wakeup-call that was supposed to tell me “Life is short; there is no room for ‘mistakes’ like this.”

A few hours later, another nurse came in to unhook Adam from the tubes that connected him to the bags down below his bed.  She didn’t take the IV out though; he needed to be kept hydrated and have some antibiotics administered so he wouldn’t get an infection.  He had just given me two pints of his blood, but the nurse was pretty sure that that wouldn’t be enough.  So after she hooked me up to the donated blood, she made a note to contact the lab and retrieve a few pints of O negative.  Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to relax enough to get some rest.  Of course, at this point, relaxing was near impossible, so I was given a few milligrams of valium to help me sleep.

Just before I slipped into blackness, I heard Adam’s voice.  “Christie…”  My eyes flew open and I turned over to look into his big blue eyes.

“Hey, you,” I greeted him softly, managing a smile.  “Are you alright?”

He nodded, smiling that thousand-watt smile that would make any girl go weak in the knees.  “Yeah, never better.”  He yawned, ran a hand over his face and propped himself up on his elbows.  Upon noticing my fluttering eyelids, he asked, “So, you’re finally gonna get some shut-eye, huh?”

I nodded sleepily.  “Uh-huh.  But they had to drug me again so I could do it.”  I nestled my head back into my pillow and prepared for sleep to take me.

Adam laughed a little and came to sit down on the edge of my bed.  But now the smile had faded from his face, and his eyes were somber.  “Christine, you are going to be fine now.  I promise you.”

I sighed deeply and replied, “Yeah.  I know.”  Then I closed my eyes and floated off into a dreamless sleep.


	12. Adam

Tommy never looked up from his iPhone as he said matter-of-factly, “Ya know, you really need to quit lying to her.  And to yourself.”  He sat slumped over on the edge of one of the chairs in the room.

“Baby, please—”  I moved my IV pole around to the other side of my bed so I could get up without getting the thing yanked out of my arm.

“I’m only gonna say this one time, so I hope you’re listening,” he interrupted sharply, finally looking up at me.  “And then I’m gonna shut up.  And when it happens—and trust me, Adam, it _will_ happen—I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Well, good,” I grumbled, flopping back down on the bed.  “‘Cause I don’t wanna hear it.”

During the excruciating silence that followed, I thought about how this whole ordeal was affecting Tommy’s and my relationship.  As my boyfriend, and as my bassist.  We loved each other; of that I was certain.  By now, I was preparing myself for the breakup that was almost inevitable, unless by some miracle, something changed.

I got up off my bed, took a deep breath, and said, “Glitterbaby…I-I’m sorry.  I really am.  Just…this whole thing with Christie, it’s really messing with my head.  I love you.  You know that, right?”  I placed a hand on his knee and he looked up at me with watery eyes.  There was only one time I’d ever seen Tommy cry, and that was when his dad died.

Still staring at me, Tommy put his iPhone down and threw his arms around my neck.  I placed my hand on the back of his head and raked my fingers through his white-blonde hair.  It took a minute for me to realize that he was shaking.  He was crying.

“Oh, baby…” I whispered.

Then he met my gaze, his eyeliner and mascara running, and said, “What would ever make you think I don’t love you?  Adam, I’ve loved you ever since the day Monte let me into that audition.  And that love for you only grew as we spent more time together.”  He laughed a little.  “And that kiss at the AMAs?  That was _real_.  And probably the best moment of my life.”

I raised my eyebrows a little and a hopeful smile graced my lips.  “Really?”

“Really,” he replied and he stroked the side of my face.  “I love you so much, Babyboy.  And I’ll never leave you, no matter how crazy things get.”  Then he crushed my mouth with his.  He backed me up onto the end of my bed and my head snapped back.

Tommy buried his hands in my hair, roughly gripping pieces of it but not enough for it to hurt.  I moaned low in my throat and I instantly grew hard.  As his tongue plunged deeper into my throat, I felt my dick quivering with desire.  Now, we’ve fucked in a lot of places, but I knew that the last thing I was gonna do was fuck him right here in this hospital room.  That was just inappropriate, and very rarely did that thought ever cross my mind.  Reason number two being that Christie was sleeping barely six feet away from us.  I wrapped my legs around his small waist and before I knew what was happening, one of his hands was desperately clutching my dick and he fumbled with his zipper with the other.  I broke the kiss immediately and placed my hands on his chest, gently pushing him away.

His lustful chocolate-colored eyes widened in shock and he stuttered, “Baby, what are you—”

“Not here,” I whispered, shaking my head.  “Not now.”

Still gaping at me, he paused, his mouth open just a little.  Then realization flashed in his eyes.  “It’s because of Christie, isn’t it?”

“What?!  No!” I retorted upon sitting up.  “Why would you even _think_ that?”

He shook his head and scoffed.  “Adam, it’s obvious.  You’ve been here with her for _two days_.  You’re always holding her hand and treatin’ her like a fuckin’ princess—”

“She’s sick!” I snapped, trying to keep my voice down.  “If you were sick, Tommy, I’d be answering to your every beck and call too!  And as I told you before, she’s probably not even gonna leave this hospital.  But that would make you pretty happy, wouldn’t it?  Then things would go back to the way they were—just you and me, all the time.  I’d never have to bother with anyone else.  But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” I added darkly, glaring at him.

“Adam, I need you—”  He looked so heartbroken, tired, defeated.

“Well, she needs me too.”  I clenched my teeth, trying hard not to lash out at him any more than I already had.

Finally, Tommy got up off the bed and raised his hands in surrender.  “Fine.  If that’s the way you want it.”  He ran a hand through his hair, taming it from its disheveled state.  Without a backward glance, he stalked out of the room and closed the door.


	13. Christine

Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains when I woke up.  Adam sat cross-legged on his bed, eating a banana.  I looked over at him and smiled sleepily.

“Morning, princess,” he said brightly, grinning.  He scooted over towards me and smoothed my hair.  “Feeling any better?”

I hummed in response and looked around the room.  My brow puckered.  “Where’s Tommy?” I asked.

“He, uh…he went home,” Adam said, flinging the banana peel into the trashcan.  His eyes darted to a random spot on the wall.

That’s when I knew something was off.  “Something’s wrong.  What happened?”

Now, if there’s one thing I know about Adam, it’s that he’s a terrible liar.  He shook his head.  “Nope.  Everything’s fine.”  His ears reddened—a dead giveaway.

I arched an eyebrow.  “You’re lying.  And I always know because your ears turn red.  Now, look me in the eye and tell me the _truth_.”

Adam closed his eyes and took a deep breath before saying, “We had a fight.”

“Oh, Jesus, _Adam_!”  I rolled my eyes in frustration.  “What is it now?  It’s not about me, is it?”

“Well, actually…”  He cleared his throat and looked away briefly.

“I knew it,” I said, shaking my head.  I couldn’t hide the incredulous chuckle that escaped me.  “I just knew it.  When are you ever going to learn that this is probably the _stupidest_ thing to argue about?  I swear, the last time I had two guys fighting over me, I was fifteen.  Are you guys really that immature?  Does he honestly think that you don’t love him anymore because you’re busy taking care of me?”

“It appears that way,” Adam said quietly, looking down at his hands again.

I was silent for a while as I sat up and scooted to the edge of my bed, letting my legs dangle over the side.  “Well.  All I can say is that you’re not gonna be fighting for much longer.”  I paused, gathering up all the courage I possessed to say what I had to say next.  “My kidneys are failing.”

Adam did a double-take and he gaped at me with wide eyes, stunned.  “Christie, that’s nothing to joke about—”

“I know that, and I’m not joking.”  I sighed deeply.  “The doctors told me earlier when they were on their morning rounds.  You were still asleep.”

“W-what about dialysis?  Can’t they try that?” he asked desperately.

I shook my head sadly.  “It’s too late for that, Adam.”

“How did this happen?” he whispered.

“That was one of the risks of the transfusion,” I explained.  “The doctor told me before that the chance of anything like this happening was only about five or six percent.  But it still happens.”  I shrugged.  “And my number just happened to be up.”  I watched as tears leaked from his eyes and his breathing became ragged.

His blue eyes were void of emotion, completely blank.  “How…how long do you…?”

“A week, maybe,” I replied, my voice trembling and just as soft as his.  “But I’m ready.  And I’m not afraid as long as you and Tommy are here.”

“This can’t be right.  It…it—no.  Just no!  I want a second opinion!”  By now, Adam was up and pacing in front of me.  He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.  Then he stopped pacing and, clenching his fists at his sides, shouted, “NO!  They’re wrong!”  He took a big, shuddering breath.  “I want a second opinion,” he repeated, quieter this time.  “I promised—”

“I know you promised me that everything would be okay,” I finished for him and I stood and gripped his upper arms.  I forced him to look at me.  “Adam, listen to me: _there is nothing you can do_.  I know you would move heaven and Earth to help me, but in this case, you just can’t.”  He hung his head in defeat.  “There’s no such thing as promises when it comes to one’s health.  I think”—I briefly looked down at my feet—“I think I always knew that something like this would happen.  That I wouldn’t come out of this alive.”

Adam shook his head insistently.  “But…”

“No buts.  We have to accept this.”  By _we_ , I meant _you_.  I swallowed hard then, trying to force down the impending tears.  “Adam, you’ve been so strong for me this whole time, which was something I needed, and I can’t thank you enough for that.  But it’s time for you to just _let go_ now.  I’ve let go already, and now it’s your turn.”  He remained silent, still staring at me with tears streaming down his face, his eyeliner flowing like little black rivers.  “Can you do that for me?” I asked.

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, then opened it again, and finally said, “I—I don’t know.”  He looked so broken in that moment, so vulnerable, and I hated seeing him like this.  So I did the only thing I knew to do.  I sat beside him and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Adam, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, running my hand over his thick, dark hair.  “I didn’t know how else to tell you, I really didn’t!”  He wept into my shoulder and I, too, choked back a sob.  “Oh, Adam, please don’t cry.”  I kissed the top of his head and wrapped my arms tighter around his neck.  “I’m so sorry.”

Then he spoke.  “Why should you be sorry?”  His voice was monotone, without emotion.  “It’s not your fault.  If anyone is at fault here, it’s me.”  I looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes.  “If I had been at home, this would not have happened.  I just can’t believe that they wouldn’t have caught it in any of the tests—”

“Or maybe it was just supposed to happen,” I replied calmly but firmly.  “I doubt that anything went wrong with the tests.  These are my kidneys we’re talking about, not my blood.  This kind of stuff can just… _happen_ sometimes, with little or no reason behind it.”

I saw a faint glimmer of determination in his blue eyes.  “Then I’ll give you one of mine.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, no matter how bitter it sounded.  “Okay, now you’re just talking crazy!  You are not giving me a kidney.”  My expression and tone sobered and I added, “Adam, you’ve given me so much already, never mind your own blood.  I can’t believe I’m even saying this now, and-and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want you to help me anymore.  Your role of hero and savior…that’s over now.”  I sighed then and placed my hand over his.  Tears flooded my eyes.  “I just want my friend,” I whispered shakily.  “That’s all I want, that’s all I ask for.  _Please_.”

Adam inhaled deeply, closing his eyes again for a second.  “Alright.”


	14. Adam

_This can’t be happening.  This is NOT happening._   I gripped my hair hard, pulling out some of the strands.  I stood up from the bed, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving a few black streaks behind.  I kissed Christie’s forehead and walked out of the room.  I sprinted down the hall and took the back stairs down three flights and roamed the halls until I reached the hospital chapel.  Luckily it was empty, so I went inside and closed the doors.  Blinded by tears, I stumbled over to one of the pews and collapsed onto it.  My head just bobbed forward into my hands and I let out a long, loud, agonized wail.

Gasping for breath, I jerked my face heavenward and said, “God, if you’re listening…please, let me know.  Give me a sign.  Something… _anything_.  _How could you let this happen?!_   Why?!  She cut herself, that much she did, but can’t you heal her?  People say that you make miracles happen, or whatever.  Can’t you make one for her?  Don’t take her away from me.  Please!  I’ll do anything!”

I hardly believed in God, although I did have my own form of faith.  But at this point, I was so desperate that I was willing believe in Santa Claus if it meant that Christie would live.

I was hoping for some kind of sign—a sudden thunderstorm, a ray of light breaking through the clouds, a dove on the windowsill—but all I got was silence.  I waited several minutes, even, but still nothing.  Now, I had always been a fairly optimistic person.  Some people say, “Everything is okay in the end; if it’s not okay, then it isn’t the end.”  Yeah, I used to believe that too.  Until now.

 

Later, I went upstairs to one of the family waiting rooms and closed and locked the door.  I sat down on one of the couches and stayed there for I don’t know how long.  Apparently I’d fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, I was laying face-down with one arm dropped over the edge of the couch.  The million tears I’d cried were dried to my face and my cheeks felt a little stiff.  I blinked a few times and sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes.  I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket and looked at the tiny clock on the front.  One-thirty.  I’d been in here, with the door locked, for almost two hours.  I decided that it was time to man up and go back into Christie’s room.  With a big yawn, I stood up and stretched my arms over my head until I heard my shoulder blades crack.  I swallowed the rest of my tears, unlocked the door, and headed back upstairs and down the hall to the second room on the right.

I hadn’t even entered the room before I noticed a shock of white-blonde hair perched at Christie’s bedside.  Oh, my god.  Tommy.  _What the hell is he doing here?_ I wondered.

I wasn’t even two steps past the threshold before he looked at me and demanded, “Where have you been?”

My eyes bugged out of my head.  “Oh, I think a more fitting question would be, ‘What are you doing here?’”  I jammed my hands on my hips and leaned back against the wall.

“Christie called me,” he said simply, even though the flash of anger in his eyes was still quite evident.

I gaped at her.  “You _what_?!”

“What, did you think I was never going to let him come back here just because you two are fighting with each other, that you’re on the verge of a breakup?”

“Yes!” Tommy and I exclaimed in unison.  We glanced at each other, a bit amused that we’d just had the same thought at the same time.

“Well, I won’t have that,” Christie declared.  “Not for a second.  You two need to make up _right this instant_ , because your fighting isn’t exactly making this situation any easier.”  She glared at Tommy and me.  “You can do it here, or you can do it in Florida— _I don’t care_ —but it needs to happen now.”  With that, she turned away and shoved her iPod earphones into her ears.


	15. Christine

Just as I had closed my eyes and started jamming out to David Bowie, someone’s hand grabbed my wrist.  I groaned in annoyance but opened my eyes anyway.  Adam was looking at me from where he towered over me.  I looked up and plucked out the earphones.

“What?” I demanded.

“Christie, we—”

“Look, Adam, I was right in the middle of the chorus to ‘Life on Mars’, it’s my favorite Bowie song, and if you make me miss it, I’ll…”  Yeah, I know, I’m threatening him over a stupid song, but still.

“Do you want to hear the ‘I’m sorry’ part, or not?” he asked.  I stared back at him.  He realized the tone he had just used and immediately corrected himself.  “Sorry.  Do you want to be part of this apology?”

“Yes.  But I want you boys to mean every word you’re saying.  Because an apology is not an apology unless it’s sincere.  And the one rule there is to this little ‘I’m Sorry’ game is: no blaming each other.  For anything.  Got it?”  They both just looked back at me, understanding plain on their faces.  “Go right ahead, gentlemen,” I said with a wave of my hand.

“I, umm…I’ll go first, I guess,” Tommy mumbled.  I gave him an encouraging look.  “Adam—”

“Look him in the eye, Tommy,” I prompted.

He slowly raised his head and pushed his bangs out of his face.  “Adam.  I know that these last several days have been really difficult for you.  I know it’s been exhausting, and very upsetting to you.  It’s really hard, but I will do my best to stand by you—and Christie—for however long this lasts.  And I _do_ know how you feel, because I dealt with the same shit when my dad was dying.”  At the mentioning of  the memory, his eyes glistened with tears and he swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut.

His voice cracked as he continued, “I’m so sorry that this happening, I really am.  And I know that I’ve apologized for being such an ass, and even I don’t think I meant it then.”  He paused.  “Well, maybe I did, I don’t know.  But now I really do.  And you can choose to believe me or not.  But I would really… _really_ like a second chance.  I’m not gonna beg because that would just make me sound pathetic.”  We both snickered at that.  “I am, however, simply going to ask for your forgiveness.  Adam…” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks, “…please forgive me.”

As soon as Tommy said those last three words, Adam reached out to cup his face in his hands and wipe his tears away with his thumbs.

“Apology accepted,” Adam conceded with a trace of a smile on his lips.

I grinned, glad that I had succeeded in the first part of getting this apology in order.  “Very good, Tommy,” I congratulated him.  “Adam, it’s your turn now.”

“Tommy, I’m so relieved to hear that you understand,” he began.  “That really means a lot to me.  I guess most of this is my fault.  I haven’t been paying attention to you.  Hell, I haven’t even left this place since we got here.  And that’s been what, five days?”  He glanced at me and I nodded for him to keep going.  “I’ve been a real jerk to you while you’ve been here, and you don’t deserve that.  But if you had just listened to—”

“Ah, ah, ah…what did I say?” I scolded.  “I said no blaming each other for anything, whether it’s true or not.”

He exhaled through his nose in irritation.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t say it to me.  Say it to him.”  I pointed at Tommy.

“Glitterbaby, I’m sorry.”  Tommy just nodded and I motioned for him to continue.  “You and Christie both mean so much to me, and I’m still learning how to make time for the both of you.  I’m pretty positive that she appreciates you being here for her as well.  I know I do.  You don’t have to forgive me—really, I don’t expect you to—after I’ve treated you like absolute shit.  But I was one hundred-percent honest when I told you that I would always love you, no matter what.  Even though it’s hard for me to do anything right now short of worrying and praying to a god that I don’t believe in, you are the only thing I need to get me through this.  You’ve gotten me through everything, baby, and I know that I’ll get through this so long as I’ve got you with me.  Tommy, I’m so sorry.  I really am.”

Now Adam was crying so hard he could barely speak, but I was impressed that he’d been able to get that mouthful out.  I smiled, pleased that they had both said their piece and finally put their quarrel to rest.

“I’m so proud of you guys,” I said after they were finished.  “I can’t tell you how much easier this will make things for all of us.  I won’t have to leave you, knowing that you argued and cursed each other up until the time I—”  I stopped abruptly, unable to say the “D” word.  I tried again.  “Until I leave you,” I said in barely a whisper.  “And I won’t have to go, knowing that there was something I could’ve done to stop you.”

It wasn’t until I stopped talking that I realized that hot tears were streaming down my face.  I didn’t bother to wipe them away; I’d cried so much for so long lately that I didn’t even care anymore.  It was as natural to me as breathing.  I watched as the two of them took my hands in theirs.

“We’ll always be with you, Christie,” Tommy assured me.  “You can count on it.”

“I know,” I responded, smiling softly, as I laid back down.  “I know.”


	16. Adam

Christie died on a Tuesday evening, just after eight o’clock.  She was taken to the ICU a few days before so she could be watched more closely.  I thought I was prepared for the worst—these last few days—but I was very wrong.  I thought it was hard seeing her hooked up to a heart monitor; well, that was absolutely _nothing_ compared to how she looked now.  There were even more monitor leads and wires covering her back and chest; a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her arm day and night; and the oxygen tubes had been replaced. ****

In order to keep her comfortable, her doctor had ordered even more pain medication and some anti-emetics to her treatment plan, so she was more often asleep than awake.  She looked so pale, it was scary.  The doctors said things would only get worse as her organs continued to shut down.  Hearing that almost made me sick.

She couldn’t eat anymore; whatever nourishment she received was through her IV, which was cranked all the way up to max infusion.  And since she could no longer get up, she was reduced to using a bedpan, which was completely humiliating for her.  I was still trying to be as strong as I could for her, but sometimes I just couldn’t hold back the tears, although I tried hard to keep myself together until after she was asleep.  Christie was lucky in that department; whatever sleep Tommy or I managed to get was anything but restful.  We slept in shifts in order for one of us to keep an eye on Christie at all times, but the two of us were always awake every time a doctor happened to drop in.

A few days before she died, her arms and legs started swelling up.  It was painful, and I hated seeing the look of discomfort and something new—fear—in her big green eyes.  Due to the swelling, she could barely squeeze my hand anymore, and that hurt me so much I just wanted to fall apart right in front of her, because I knew that that meant the end was near.

Tommy was practically catatonic by now.  The whole time we were at the hospital, neither one of us hardly ate a thing.  Even though the cafeteria was just two floors down, food was the last thing on our minds now.

At one point, Christie woke up from her deep slumber and gazed drowsily at me.  “Adam…” she murmured.

Startled out of my faraway thoughts, I immediately turned to her side.  Tears glistened in her eyes.  “What is it, princess?  Are you cold?  I can get you another blanket—”  I started to get up but she pulled me back down.  Her hand was like ice.

“Stay with me,” she requested in a whisper.

Christie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and the breath slowly left her.  Then she opened her eyes, turned to face me, and smiled softly.

“I—I don’t…have…much time left,” she said with shaky, heaving breaths.

My heart leapt into my throat and I started to panic.  I squeezed her hands and brushed my lips against her fingertips.  “Don’t go,” I begged, shaking my head weakly, but I knew that the time was upon us when she really would leave me.

She reached up and pressed her palm to my cheek and smiled again.  “Adam, I’m so lucky to have had you for a friend…and I want you to know that…that I love you so much—”

“Don’t talk like that!”

She held up a hand to silence me.  “—and you’ve gotten me through so much.  Things that I…thought no one else could.”  I smiled.  “To be honest, I’m actually glad that you walked in on me in the bathroom that day.”  I raised an eyebrow.  “Not like that, doofus!”  She slapped my arm.  It was good to see her smile and hear her laugh, however feeble it was.  Then her expression softened.  “I could’ve died right there on the bathroom floor…had it…not been for you.  You saved my life.”

An incredulous look crossed my face.  “Saved your life?” I scoffed.  “You call this ‘saving’?!”

“In a way.”

“But you’re—”

“I know I’m dying,” Christie admitted resignedly.  Wow.  She’d finally said it.  “But as I told you before: it doesn’t matter to me…as long as you…and Tommy are here.”

That made me smile.  And it felt good.  “Should I wake him up?”

“If you want.”

“I think I should,” I replied.  Gently, I shook my lover awake.  He stirred, muttering a few incomprehensible words, and then his big brown eyes fluttered open.  Tommy turned to look at Christie and me, blinking a few times.

“You guys alright?” he murmured.  “‘Cause if everything’s okay, and if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep.”

“I don’t think so, Sleeping Beauty,” I chuckled, tugging at him to sit up.  “You need to stay awake.”

He understood and nodded.  “Gotcha.  Hey, Christie,” he greeted, getting up from the sofa to come sit on my lap.  He took my hand and laced his fingers through mine.  I turned to face him and we rubbed noses affectionately.  Christie smiled.

“You guys are so cute,” she remarked.  “I want you two to take care of each other.  And promise me something…don’t fight so much, okay?  You guys deserve to be happy, and fighting…over dumb stuff never made…anybody very happy.”

We both nodded in agreement.

Then Christie yawned and the beeping on her heart monitor quickened.  Tommy and I knew what that meant.  Tommy let out a sudden, strangled sob, so I wrapped my arms around his tiny frame and he buried his face in my shoulder.  Me, I just felt numb all over; I couldn’t feel a thing.  I let go of Tommy and grasped both of Christie’s icy hands in mine.

When I worked up the guts to look at her, the fire in those familiar green eyes had died, and now they were glassy and dull as she stared into nothingness, and she was even paler than before.  A visible sheen of sweat covered her face.

“Adam, I’m so tired,” she whispered slowly.

“Christie…Christie, no,” I choked out.  “Don’t leave me.”  A thin smile graced her lips as she drew her final breath, a small strangled gasp.  The heart monitor rate picked up to an incredible speed, her body twitched briefly, and then her cold hand slipped from mine.  The beeping on the monitor became one constant tone.  She was gone.  Christie—my princess—was gone.  Forever.

Before Tommy or I knew what was happening, a team of doctors and nurses burst through the door, pushing a crash cart, and shoved us aside and began working frantically in a last-minute attempt to revive their patient.  But even so, I think they knew that their efforts were futile.  Christie was pronounced dead at eight-oh-five p.m.  A nurse pulled the sheet of her bed up over her face.  Doctor Lewis, among the others, offered condolences, but Tommy and I barely heard him.

Several minutes later, once I had come out of my dazed stupor and made my entrance back into reality, I realized that Tommy, who was still perched on my knee, was shaking violently with quiet sobs.  His dark bangs hung forward over his face as he held his head in his hands, inhaling and exhaling shuddering breaths.  Instinctively I held him close, and he didn’t resist.

The bunch hadn’t even made it to the door before Tommy crumpled in my arms and I held him awkwardly, one arm around his shoulders and my other hand on the back of his head.  He wept into the hollow of my neck, and as tears streamed down my own face, I rested my chin on top of his head and scrunched my eyes shut tight, hoping that this was all a bad dream, and that when I opened my eyes, Christie would be sitting up in bed with a smile on her face.  But that never happened.

 

Later, we left the hospital and drove to Tommy’s apartment in silence.  I knew that if I went back to my place, I would just fall apart at the seams.  A friend came by last week to clean up the mess in the bathroom, but Christie’s things were all over the place—her cereal dish still in the sink, bed unmade, and clothes strewn all over her bedroom floor.  Even if I did go back, I knew full well that I’d never be able to use that bathroom again.  So instead, I stayed with Tommy for a while.

Once we were inside, we both sat down on the couch, neither one of us wanting to speak.  Too much had happened over the course of the past week and a half and I just needed to get away.  After what seemed like hours—I don’t know, maybe it was hours—Tommy spoke.

“You hungry?” he asked.  “I could go out and grab some burgers.”

“Honestly, I could care less if I never eat again,” I replied quietly.

“Huh, sorry, dumb question.”  Then the deafening silence returned; you could hear a pin drop.  Tommy scooted closer and placed his hand on top of mine in a comforting gesture.  He turned to me and added, “Did she ever, y’know, tell you what she wanted…after…”

I shook my head.  “No.  That’s what I’ll have to figure out these next couple of days.  First I’ll have to sell the apartment; I just…I can’t stay there anymore.”

“You could always stay here, if you want,” he offered.

“Thanks, but I need to go home.  Get away from all this for a while.  But I will come by every now and then, maybe stay a few days, if that’s okay.”

Tommy wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me tenderly, his lips lingering on mine for several seconds.  “Of course it’s okay,” he whispered.  “You don’t even have to call.  You should know that by now.”  I managed a weak smile and nodded, then continued to stare at the floor.

“Damn it, I miss her already…” I choked out miserably, and the tears returned, gushing from my red, swollen eyes.  I buried my face in Tommy’s shoulder.

“Ohh, I know.  I know it hurts,” he said, rubbing my back in soothing circles.  “It hurts me too, so much.  But it’ll get better, you’ll see.”

I wriggled out of his embrace and jumped up off the couch.  “How can you _say_ that?!” I roared.  “It won’t!  Nothing will ever be the same again!  Ever!  Don’t give me that goddamn spiel, not now!  Tommy, don’t you get it?!  It’s only been a couple of hours, not a couple of days!  You can give me all of that later, but most definitely _not now_!”

In my wrath, I kicked over a nearby chair and knocked a stack of books off the coffee table.  I snatched my jacket from where I’d tossed it over the arm of the couch and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asked calmly.

“Anywhere but here,” I spat as I exited the apartment and slammed the door.


	17. Tommy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here begins the part of the story with Adam and Tommy’s POVs. It’s just as good as the first part. Promise. :)

I watched helplessly as Adam stormed out of my apartment.  Couldn’t he see that I was only trying to help?  But then again, I saw myself in him as he was drowning in his pain.  I was the exact same way—maybe worse—when my father died, and I didn’t want to have a thing to do with anyone, even Adam, for the longest time.  I didn’t perform at any of our gigs for weeks; luckily Adam found a temporary replacement.  Would it be the same way with Adam?  How many appearances would we have to cancel, and for how long?  Granted, we still had about two weeks left of our break, but I wasn’t sure if that would give him enough time to grieve.

In a daze, I got up from the couch, righted the overturned chair and rearranged the scattered books.  When I stood from my crouched position, I gagged and a cry rolled out of me.  Salty droplets slid down my cheeks and dripped off my jaw and chin, freefalling onto my neck and rolling down from there.  I suppose that this reaction was merely from the shock of what had happened only three hours ago.  I knew the worst was yet to come.

                                                 

I didn’t sleep that night; I was too shaken from the day’s events, and I couldn’t stop thinking about where Adam might be.  Would his eruption seal the fate of our relationship?  Or was it just the beginning of his grieving process?  Even though we’d been together for over two years, I still wasn’t sure of how his mind worked, how he’d react in certain situations.  Well, this proved to me that, for him, the aftermath of traumatic occurrences began with a violent rage.

At one point during the night, I was tempted to call him, just to make sure that everything was alright, that wherever he was, he was safe.  I was afraid that I would receive a phone call from a drunken Adam—which is most definitely _not_ a good thing—at four in the morning.  The last thing I wanted to do was haul my ass out to a trashy East LA gay bar in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, what I’d feared the most happened around five a.m.  He called me up, barely able to put together a coherent sentence and he couldn’t even tell me where the hell he was.  So I talked to the bartender and then left to pick him up.  He was so messed up; I practically had to carry him out to the car, and trust me, that was no easy task.

Once I had him strapped into his seat, before we took off, I asked, “Adam, what the _hell_ is the matter with you?!  You should know better than to go off and get yourself so wasted that you can’t even walk.  You know, I shoulda just left you here…”

“Stop yelling,” he whined, his head flopped to the side.  “I was havin’ a good time!”

“Yeah, I bet you were,” I muttered as I started the car and drove out of the parking lot.  I didn’t drive too fast; the last thing I wanted was for him to suddenly get carsick all over the leather interior of my almost brand-new Lexus.  “First we fight, then you go out and get completely smashed, and now you tell me that you were ‘having a good time.’  I’m sure you did.  So, uh, how many guys did you make out with?” I asked casually.

“Uhhh, this many,” Adam slurred, holding up four fingers.

I shook my head.  I doubted he was telling the truth.  My guess is, he probably couldn’t even remember his own name right now, so I just took everything he said with a grain of salt.  The minute we pulled up to my apartment complex, I hefted my inebriated boyfriend out of the passenger seat and dragged him to the front door.  We took the elevator up to my apartment and I brought him to the bedroom, where I dumped him on the bed.  Just then, he opened his glassy, bloodshot eyes.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Back at my apartment.”  I tugged off his snakeskin boots, preparing to tuck him into bed.  “Jesus, you are gonna have such a hangover in the morning.”  This, I said more to myself than to him.

“That’s nice.”  I almost laughed at that; it’s like he just didn’t give a shit.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

But he didn’t hear me, because he already fast asleep, snoring softly.  A glistening bead of drool hung from the corner of his mouth.  I pulled the covers over him, kissed his forehead like I always did—even though he didn’t deserve it this time—and left the room, closing the door behind me.

I went out to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of instant mac ‘n’ cheese, considering that I really hadn’t eaten anything in several days.  While it was heating up in the microwave, I opened the fridge and took a swig of orange juice, right out of the carton.  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand just as the microwave beeped and I took the bowl out, practically scalding myself in the process.  After eating and putting my bowl in the dishwasher, I flopped down on the couch and, completely exhausted, went right to sleep.

 

Sometime early that morning, as sunlight was streaming through the venetian blinds, I heard the toilet flush.  Still half asleep, I stumbled into the bathroom to find Adam passed out on the floor, covered in his own vomit.  I rolled my eyes as I sat him up against the toilet, stripped his shirt, and carried him back to bed.  Then, grimacing, I took to the task of cleaning up the disgusting, putrid mess that was all over the floor.

Once that was done, I returned to the living room.  I didn’t even bother going back to sleep, even though I knew Adam wouldn’t be up for hours.  So I made a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table and drank the whole thing myself.  A little while later, I was totally wired, thus the result of drinking nearly six cups of coffee.  I was hoping that the smell would’ve woken Adam up, but it didn’t.  In a way, I was almost glad.  For all I cared, he could just suffer from the bitch of a hangover he would have when he woke up.  He wouldn’t get one ounce of sympathy from me, nor any coffee, or aspirin—no nothing.  My guess was he did this on purpose and he would just have to deal for as long as the damn thing lasted.

Later, as I was flipping listlessly through various TV channels, I heard retching in the bathroom and I went to check on him.  Again, he was hunched over the toilet, puking up every ounce of alcohol he’d consumed the night before.  This time he’d actually made it to the toilet instead of losing it all over the floor.  Finally he sat back and leaned his head against the wall with a soft _thud_.

“So how you feelin’?” I asked coldly.

“Like hell,” he croaked out.  Then he cradled his head in his hands and groaned in pain.  “Aww, fuck, my head…”

“No shit, Sherlock.  You’ve got the biggest hangover I’ve ever seen.”  Carefully, I helped him stand up.  He rinsed his mouth out and I put his arm around my shoulder so I could get him into the living room.  Once I’d gotten him to the couch, I put a pillow behind his head and he laid down, groaning in misery.

“Ugh, where’s the aspirin?”

“Gee, I don’t know.”  I scoffed.  “Find it yourself.”  I turned on my heel and went back to the kitchen and made myself a huge bowl of Captain Crunch.

“What happened?” I heard him moan.

“Well, let’s see…after we came home from the hospital, we had a fight; then you got pissed and went out and drank so much you could barely talk.  So you’re just gonna have to deal with that hangover of yours, because I ain’t gonna do a damn thing about it,” I said without looking over at him.  “You did this to yourself.”

“Where’s Christie?”

My spoon tumbled out of my hand and landed in my bowl with a _clink_ and I said quietly, “Don’t you remember?”  I paused, working up the courage to add, “Adam, she’s dead.”

His eyes snapped open.  “ _What?_   What do you mean?”  He tried to sit up but was unsuccessful in that attempt.

“She’d been in the hospital for almost two weeks.  You found her in the bathroom, bleeding because she cut herself.  You took her to the hospital, and the doctors tried to fix her up.  While we thought she was recovering after the blood transfusion, apparently her kidneys were failing.  Then it was just a question of how long she had before she was no longer with us.  Baby, she—she died yesterday.”

“No…”

Now I felt terrible for being so harsh with him.  I abandoned my cereal and went to sit on the floor beside him.  I brushed my hand over his sweaty forehead.  “The infection had spread so quickly, and there was nothing they could do.  But she’s not in pain anymore.  She doesn’t have to suffer.”  I saw the tears pooling in his bloodshot eyes; he was definitely cognizant enough to realize what had happened.

“So…so what do we do now?”

“We need to contact the funeral parlor and arrange a memorial service.  But we’ll do that tomorrow when you’re feeling better.  For now, you need to rest.”  I stood up and made my way to the bathroom to retrieve some aspirin from the medicine cabinet and I filled a paper cup with water.  “Here, take these,” I instructed, placing two of the white pills in his palm.

He gratefully swallowed them and washed them down with the small cup of water.  Adam sighed then and reached out to take my hand.  “Tommy, I am so sorry.  Damn it, I keep screwing everything up between us, and that’s not fair to you.”  He kissed my hand and continued, “I just…god, everything is so _fucked up_ right now, and I don’t know what to do.”  Tears welled up in his eyes again.

“That’s why I’m here,” I reassured him.  “To help you get through this.  Remember when my dad died?  You were there for me.  Now I’m going to be there for you.  I promise.”


	18. Adam

When I woke up the next morning, my head was still reeling, but I didn’t feel nearly as shitty as I did the day before.  I felt so _stupid_ for doing what I did, and I swore to myself that I’d never do it again.  I sat up slowly and tried to stand, but I flopped clumsily back down on the bed.  I tried again, this time successfully, and went out to the kitchen where I found Tommy flipping a few pancakes onto a plate.

“Good, you’re awake,” he greeted me.  “How’d you sleep?”

“Not bad,” I yawned and stretched my arms up over my head.  “You got coffee?”

He nodded.  “Yeah, it’s been sitting for a few minutes, but it’s still hot.”

I walked closer to my boyfriend, who I hoped had forgiven me for being such a douchebag the last couple of days.  Turns out he had, because he reached out to me and I fell into his arms to receive his loving embrace.  He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his forehead on my chest.  Then he stood on his toes to meet my lips in a tender kiss.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Tommy commented with a small smile as he pulled away and smoothed my tousled hair.

“Yeah.  But my head’s still killing me.”

“I’ll bet.  Sit down; breakfast is ready,” he said, motioning towards the table, where a plate of pancakes and a bottle of syrup were ready and waiting.

First I took a mug from one of the cabinets and filled it with coffee, leaving it black.  I sat in one of the chairs and sipped the hot beverage, letting it burn my throat a little; I closed my eyes and hummed in satisfaction.  A minute later, Tommy sat down across from me and helped himself to three of the steaming pancakes, dousing them in syrup.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked when he noticed that I wasn’t even making a move to reach for the plate.

“No,” I mumbled, taking another sip of coffee.

Tommy put his fork down and sighed.  “Adam, you’ve gotta eat _something_ —”

“How can I?”  I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes again.

“You haven’t eaten anything in over a week,” he challenged.

I just stared back at him, preparing to get up from the table.  “I just can’t,” I whispered.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t start this again.  We promised her that we wouldn’t fight, that we would take care of each other.  That’s all I’m trying to do.”

“Who said we were fighting?  All I said was that I’m not hungry.  I need to go home.  I need to…call the funeral parlor.”  I choked on the last four words.

There was a long pause.  “Well, alright,” Tommy conceded.  “I’ll wash your shirt.  It’s covered in barf right now.”

The corners of my mouth twitched into the smallest attempt I could make at a smile and I nodded.  I sat down on the couch and pulled on my boots and then put my jacket on.  Tommy stood up from the table and came to embrace me tightly and plant another kiss on my lips.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly, and I placed my hand to his cheek before walking out the door.

 

As soon as I reached my parents’ house, without even bothering to say hello to anyone, I made a beeline for the kitchen and took the phonebook out of the drawer where we kept it.  I carried it to the kitchen table and I plopped into a chair and placed it in front of me.  I stared at the thick book for several minutes before taking a deep breath and flipping through the yellow pages until I reached “F” and searched for “funeral homes”.  I picked the first one listed and grabbed the cordless phone.  By now, my heart felt like it was going to explode right out of my chest at any second.  I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths before dialing the number.  Before I could even get the first word out, a huge lump had worked itself into my throat.

“Griggs Funeral Home and Chapel; this is Andrea,” a way-too-perky-for-a-funeral-home receptionist said.  “How can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, I need to arrange a memorial service for Christine Neumann,” I managed.

“Alright,” the receptionist replied.  “When would you like to schedule the service?”

“As soon as possible.”

“We have an opening next Saturday,” she said, sounding so casual you’d think I was calling in to make a hair appointment.

“That’s fine.  I’ll take it.”

I realized that I hadn’t ever gotten any of Christie’s affairs in order, so I was basically planning this funeral at the spur of the moment, and with no real plans in mind.  But by now, it had been almost a week since her death and it was time to get things moving.  Andrea and I discussed flower arrangements and the best place to buy them, caskets, headstones, and other things of that nature.  After about an hour, Andrea and I had everything sorted out, and over the next few days, I’d be visiting one of the local florists, choosing a headstone, and picking out an outfit for Christie to wear, among other things.

Once I hung up the phone, I retreated to my old room upstairs and closed the door.  I collapsed onto my stomach on the bed and buried my head in my arms.  A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and my mom poked her head into the room.  I sat up as soon as she came inside.  She saw that my eyes were wet and red, and she slowly approached my bed and sat down.

“Honey, I am so sorry,” she whispered as she put her arms around me.  “Tommy called.  He told me what happened.”  She paused for a moment to run her hand over my hair.  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“God, Mom, it was horrible,” I cried and took a ragged breath.  “She just—she was so weak.  And her kidneys…”  Then I burst into tears, unable to speak another word.  My mom held me like she used to when I was a little kid, pulling me onto her lap and holding me tight.

“Shhh, sweetie, it’s alright,” she murmured soothingly.  “She’s in a better place now.  She doesn’t have to be in pain anymore.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking up from where I’d buried my face in her shoulder.  “But it just hurts so much.  She was…she was my best friend.”

“I know.”  She paused to kiss my forehead and to wipe the tears from my eyes.  “When did you plan the service?” she asked.

“Next Saturday.”

“Well, we’ll all be there for you.  And Tommy.  I know how much she meant to the both of you.”

“Thanks,” I sniffed, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.  “Could I just be alone right now?”

“Sure, sweetheart.  Just call if you need me.  I’ll be downstairs.”  She kissed the top of my head once more and then left my room, closing the door behind her.

When she was gone, I lay back down on my bed and cried myself to sleep.

 

I woke up hours later in darkness—my bedside clock showed that it was ten-thirty—and my phone, which I had placed on my nightstand, was buzzing.

“Tommy?”

“Hey, Babyboy,” he replied.  “How ya doin’?”

“Lousy,” I said, failing to hold back a yawn.

 “Aww, damn, did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, kinda,” I agreed reluctantly.  “But it’s worth it if I’m talking to you.  Look, I arranged the funeral for next weekend.  I’ve got a lot of work to do before then.”

“You want me to come up there and help you out?” Tommy asked.

“It’s up to you.”

“Well, if it’s alright with you, then I will.  But if you’d prefer to handle it by yourself, I’ll understand.”  He voice was gentle, and I just couldn’t say no.

“Sure,” I agreed.  “Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day—I’m going to order the flowers and pick out a casket.  I’ll probably take a look at headstones on Thursday.”

“Busy or not, I could care less.  Just means that we’ll get to spend time together,” he said with a smile in his voice.  “Are you sure you’re alright?  Do you want me to come over there, keep you company?”

“No, that’s alright.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After clicking the “END” button on my phone, I tossed it back onto the nightstand and I curled up on my bed and tucked my chin to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself.  No sooner had I closed my eyes, Christie’s face flashed in my mind.  I jerked slightly and gasped as my eyes snapped open.  I sat up and placed both my hands on either side of my head and tried to massage away a sudden oncoming headache.  I decided to go downstairs and take some aspirin, and so that’s exactly what I did.  Neglecting the fact that everyone was asleep, I didn’t bother to be quiet while going down the steps.  When I reached the kitchen, I took two aspirin and then went to the liquor cabinet that was underneath our kitchen island.  I pulled out a bottle of Jack, opened it, and took a few long swigs of the strong whiskey.  Then, sighing, I put it away and went back upstairs to my room and waited for sleep to come.

 

The next morning, I awoke feeling like my arms and legs were full of lead.  I yawned and blinked a few times against the blinding sunlight that was streaming through the parted curtains.  Glancing at the digital clock on my nightstand, the glowing green numbers showed that it was two o’clock in the afternoon.  Damn, I’d just slept half the day away!  I sat up and padded across my room and went to the bathroom to wash my face, splashing it with cold water and scrubbing it with a bit of soap.  I studied my reflection in the mirror.  I looked like shit; my hair was a god-awful mess, my makeup was gone, there were humongous dark circles under my eyes and my face had lost its color.  Jesus, how could I go out in public like _this_?  After drying my face with a nearby towel, I went downstairs to find my younger brother searching for his keys.

“Well, it’s about damn time you woke up,” Neil commented, glancing up at me momentarily as he continued to rummage through a drawer.

“Nice to see you too,” I replied, my voice scratchy with sleep.  “Where’re you off to?”

“The bank and then I’m going to see Carley.  And what’s going on with you?”

“I, uh, I have to go and meet with the funeral director later and I have to go to the florist, choose a casket—”

“What, you’re planning your own funeral already?”

I shot him a dirty look, which soon turned serious.  “No,” I said quietly, looking away.

Neil instantly realized the mistake he’d made.  “Oh god, Adam, I’m so sorry.  I—I didn’t mean…  Mom told me about your friend Christine.”  He approached me and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I didn’t shy away.

“Yeah,” I said.  “I’ve gotta go get dressed; I’m supposed to meet Tommy in about twenty minutes.”  I turned and headed back upstairs, Neil looking after me as I walked away.

Once I was back in my room, I undressed and changed into a tight black T-shirt and jeans.  I attempted to salvage my hair, spiking up the back with a bit of gel; I dabbed concealer under my eyes and then rimmed them with a stick of kohl.  I grabbed my wallet and keys off of my dresser and went back down past the kitchen, not even bothering to take a granola bar to eat on the way.  I hopped into my car and floored the gas pedal, pealing out of the driveway, speeding down the road and out of our gated community.

A few minutes later, I arrived at Tommy’s apartment complex and called him to let him know I was waiting outside.  Within thirty seconds he was out the door and approaching my car.  He climbed inside and gave me a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth.  I returned the affectionate gesture and caressed his jaw.

“Hey,” I whispered, looking into his deep brown eyes.

“Hey,” he echoed, and smiled a little.  Then his smile disappeared and he took my hand and asked, “You ready to do this?”

“No,” I admitted.  “But I know it has to be done.”

Tommy squeezed my hand in reassurance.  “It’s alright, Babyboy.  You can do this.  I know you can.”


	19. Tommy

Adam had set the GPS with the address for the Griggs Funeral Home and Chapel, and we held hands the whole way there.  I reached for the radio dial, but Adam immediately swatted my hand away from it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

I froze and looked down at my lap, mumbling, “Sorry.  I shouldn’t have done it.”  We didn’t speak another word the rest of the way there.  Once we arrived, I asked, “Are you sure we’re at the right place?  I mean, do they actually have caskets here?”

“They have a showroom in the back.  Come on, let’s go.”

Now, when I think of showrooms, I think of car dealerships.  It was hard for me to imagine that we were actually going shopping for a casket.  The interior of the funeral parlor was very nice—polished cherry wood tables, doors, and the banister of the nearby elegant spiral staircase.  A chandelier hung overhead in the foyer and there was a pair of armchairs and an end table in the small alcove off to side.

Adam had already gone over to the front desk, which, like all the rest of woodwork in the room, was made of polished cherry.  A short, slender redhead with her hair pulled up in a chignon and wearing a burgundy-colored suit was speaking to him, and Adam was hunched over the desk, signing some papers.  I made my way further into the parlor and stood at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Almost finished,” he murmured without looking up from the forms he was signing.  I stood and waited, glancing around the room in the meantime.  “There,” Adam finally said, sliding the papers back across the desk to the receptionist.

“Alright, gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, please,” the petite woman said, leading us into another room.

Dozens of caskets were on display—large ones, small ones, white ones, some made of oak, and others made of dark mahogany.  Slowly, Adam and I walked around, inspecting and admiring the fine details of each and every casket.  We didn’t even bother to inquire about the prices; we both knew that Christie deserved the best, no matter the cost.

After about twenty minutes of looking around, we had come to a conclusion.  We both decided on a casket made of solid poplar wood with a satin interior, gold trim, and embossed with angels, cherubs, and roses.  It would be held for us until the day of the funeral.

Next we went to a local florist that specialized in flower arrangements just for funerals.  Adam and I spent a great deal of time there, considering whether we wanted the typical white lily arrangement, roses, orchids, carnations, lavender, Gerber daisies, or tulips.  In the end, we chose a combination of red and yellow roses, pink and white carnations, and various colors of Gerber daisies.  Yellow roses had always been Christie’s favorite.

We saved selecting a tombstone for another day because simply choosing a casket and flowers was enough for one day.  Adam and I were emotionally exhausted and we just couldn’t take another funeral-related obligation that day.

On the way back to my apartment, we stopped by a café to get a bite to eat—I’d actually coaxed Adam into eating just a little bit.  Naturally, the paparazzi were everywhere, swarming us the entire time we were at the restaurant.  But Adam and I just remained quiet and ignored them altogether, even though we were having our pictures snapped left and right.  Adam stopped only once to sign an autograph for a little girl who couldn’t have been much older than ten.  When her mom called her back to where they were sitting, we overheard that her name was Christina, and Adam excused himself to go back to the car until I was finished eating.  I knew this wasn’t going to be good, so I wolfed down the last bites of my sandwich, put twenty bucks on the table and scribbled _“Keep the change”_ on the check, and left the restaurant.


	20. Adam

_Christina…Christine…Christie…_   Upon hearing that name, I could’ve sworn that the world had stopped spinning.  I watched as the little girl pranced back to her mother, excitedly showing her the napkin where I’d signed my name.  For another few seconds, it was like everything around me was going in slow-motion.  The girl, with her long, dark French braid, took off in a fluttery dance, back across to the other side of the restaurant.  Except for the hair, her eyes were the same color as Christie’s.  Tommy was calling my name but, of course it sounded faraway and in slow-motion.

“Adam.  Adam.”

I could even see him waving his hand in front of my face, but my mouth wouldn’t open; and even if it did, I’m not sure I could form the right words to tell him what was wrong.  So I did the next thing I knew to do: I got up from the table and bolted out of the restaurant to go back to the car.

Outside, a cold wind was whipping all around me so I tugged up the hood of my jacket and stuffed my hands into the pockets.  I yanked open the passenger-side door and slid into the seat, slamming the door shut.  Still in a state of “is this real or not?”, I crossed my arms on top of the dashboard and lowered my head, burying my face into the fabric of my coat.  No sooner had I closed my eyes, tears began leaking from the corners and sliding down my face.  Blood thumped in my ears, drowning out the sound of Tommy getting back in the car.  He placed his hand on my shoulder but I shrugged him off.

“Adam…” he said gently.  “Adam, are you okay?”

“No,” I murmured, my head still hidden in my arms.  Once again, he gently clamped his hand on my shoulder and this time I didn’t resist his touch.  Instead, I slowly lifted my head and he took my tearstained face in both his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.  “This was a mistake.  We should’ve just gone straight home.”  He brushed away my tears with his thumbs.

“No,” I repeated, swallowing down the rest of my tears.  “Don’t blame yourself; I needed to get out of the house for a while anyway.  I mean, you’re not a psychic—at least, I don’t think you are.”  Tommy cracked a small smile.  “You couldn’t have known something like this would happen.  Hell, I didn’t even think of it either.”

Tommy’s brow puckered.  “But I do blame myself.  I should’ve known you weren’t ready yet.”

“It’s okay.  I’m just too sensitive right now.”

“Well, if you say so.  Come on, we’ll go home now.  I want you to stay at my place for a few days,” Tommy insisted.

“But—”

“This is non-negotiable, Adam.”  From out of the corner of his eye, Tommy gave me a stern look and I just decided to shut up.  It was rare that I ever won an argument with him.

So we drove back to my apartment and since he knew that there was absolutely no way I was gonna go in there and get my stuff myself, I gave him my key and he went inside to grab some of my stuff for me.  He came back about five minutes later and tossed a duffle bag into the backseat of the car.

“Ya know,” I said, “you really don’t have to do this…”

“And _you_ can’t possibly stay here when you’re like this right now,” he countered, putting the car in reverse and heading back out onto the freeway.  “You know you’re gonna have to sell it sometime,” he added.

I nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  Soon.”

We rode back to Tommy’s place in silence, although when we were at a stoplight, Tommy took my hand and kissed my knuckles.

“Look, I know I shouldn’t say this right now—”

“Then don’t say it,” I suggested tiredly.

“—but things are gonna be okay.  I know you don’t wanna hear that right now, but maybe it’ll just…”

“Alright, I get it,” I sighed, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose to stem an oncoming migraine.  “Just… _please_ don’t mention it right now, okay?”

He nodded in compliance.  “You’re still not going back, though?”

“Nope.  I’m sellin’ the place A-SAP.”

When we arrived back at Tommy’s apartment, he grabbed my duffle from the backseat and together, we headed up to his apartment on the sixth floor of the complex.  He tossed my bag onto the nearby couch and then went to the kitchen.

“You hungry?” he asked.

I’m sure he was expecting a “no”, but I surprised him when I replied, “Sort of.  What do you got?”

He took stock of the contents of his refrigerator.  “Uhh, some leftover sweet and sour pork and lo mein, mashed potatoes, I’ve got some Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer…”

“Oooh, yes please!” I requested eagerly.

Tommy pulled out two pints—Cherry Garcia and Half-Baked.  I indicated to the carton of Half-Baked and Tommy retrieved a spoon from a drawer and I greedily snatched up the eating utensil and frozen carton, ripping off the lid and attacked the sweet, creamy contents.

“Mmmmm…”  I closed my eyes in a state of total bliss.

“See?  Food is good,” Tommy pointed out.

“This kind is.”

As I continued to shovel the ice cream into my mouth, savoring every frozen bite, Tommy made his way into the bedroom to put away my clothes and organize the rest of my stuff.

“Ya know,” I said in between bites, “you really don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t want you making a mess of my room,” he called back as I heard a drawer open and close.  “If you’re gonna stay here, you’re gonna have to abandon your messy habits for a little while.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” I whined.  I placed the empty carton on the coffee table and walked back to the bedroom.

Tommy glanced out into the living room.  “See?  I just told you that you need to pick up after yourself while you’re here, and what do I find?”  He held up the empty carton and spoon.

“Sorry,” I chuckled.

After tossing away the empty ice cream container, Tommy returned to the bedroom where I lay on the bed, on my back with my hands tucked behind my head.  He turned and lay down next to me, and rested his head on my chest, and I took one of my arms out from behind my head and wrapped it around his waist.

“So, how ya doing?” he asked, turning his head to look directly into my eyes.  I knew I couldn’t lie to him now.

I hummed briefly in thought, staring up at the ceiling, then looked back at him and admitted, “Hurting.  I miss her, Tommy, I really do.  Life just won’t be the same without her.”  This time I’d managed to hold back the tears.  “And I’ve still got so much to do before the…the…”  I just couldn’t say the word “funeral.”  If I did, it was sure to make this nightmare real.

“The funeral?” Tommy finished for me.  All I could do was nod in response; I closed my eyes to drive away the approaching tears.

“We should…uh…go out tomorrow and look into buying a headstone and figure out what to put on it,” I suggested.  “The—it’s in a little less than a week now.”

“I know.”

For nearly the rest of the night, Tommy and I just laid there on the bed, holding each other, not speaking.  Really, there were no words to say at all.


	21. Tommy

At one point during the night, as Adam and I slept, I felt him stir within my embrace and begin mumbling something in his sleep.  Slowly, I opened my eyes and my ears perked up enough to understand his muffled words.

“No…Christie...don’t go…”  Adam began writhing around in bed, the sheets getting all tangled up in the process.  “Stop…come back…”

I sat up and grabbed his shoulder and began shaking him gently.  “Adam,” I said in a raised voice.  “Adam, wake up!”  But it seemed that he just couldn’t get himself out of this terrible dream.

“Christie…don’t…leave me,” he continued to whimper.  He twitched in his sleep and desperately clutched his pillow.

 _“That’s it,”_ I thought to myself, shaking my head in frustration.  I grabbed Adam with both hands and shook him as hard as I could.  “ADAM!” I shouted.  “WAKE UP!”

“CHRISTIE!” he cried out as he bolted upright in bed.  He was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf on a tree.  Tears cascaded down his face.

I held him steady in my arms as he looked around wildly, his eyes wide and frightened.  I had never seen him like this, and he was really starting to scare me.

“Adam, Adam, it’s okay,” I soothed.  “Shhhh, you’re alright.  I’m here.”

“Where is she?” he demanded, as if I had something to do with it.

“Baby, it was only a dream.”  I turned his head so he could look into my eyes and hopefully realize that he was awake now.  “Look at me.”

His blue eyes were still wild-looking and afraid, but I had gotten his attention, and that had been my goal.  Adam took a deep breath, slowly closed his eyes, and sank against my chest.  I sighed softly and held onto him, stroking his hair, which was all messy and sweaty.

“Tommy…” he whispered hoarsely.  “What happened?”  He sounded like a frightened child.

“You were dreaming,” I said.  “And I kept trying to wake you up, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do it.”  I sighed again and shook my head a little.  “You scared me, baby.”

Several minutes passed and we remained in the same position—I cradled Adam in my arms, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down more, and he buried his face in my shoulder.

“It was so bad,” he mumbled, lifting his tearstained face a little.  I brushed my hand over his forehead, pushing back some of his mussed black hair that was stuck to the damp skin.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I asked hesitantly.

There was a very long pause before he said, “Yeah.”  He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and sniffed a little before saying, “There was so much blood,” he began in a small voice.  “Christie was standing there in front of me, and she looked so healthy.”  A wistful smile crossed his face, but vanished as quickly as it had appeared.  “But then, all of a sudden, her arms started bleeding and she collapsed.  I ran to catch her and then she turned so pale, Tommy, like every ounce of blood had drained out of her.”  He swallowed hard before adding, “And it had.  I was sitting there in a pool of her blood…so much blood…”  Adam’s face crumpled as he leaned into my chest and wept.

“Oh, Adam,” I whispered, rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles.  We sat there for a minute longer before I sat up straighter, pulling him up with me, and said, “Come with me.”

I took both of his hands and helped him off the bed and guided him out of the room, down the hall, and into the living room.  When I turned to look back at him, I saw the most confused look on his face.

“Glitterbaby, what are you—?”

It had been so long since he’d last called me that, and I smiled to myself.  “You’ll see,” I said.  “Just come on.”

Once we reached the living room, I sat him down on the couch; he tucked his legs up under himself and watched as I retrieved my guitar from where it leaned against the side of the TV.  A crease of confusion formed on Adam’s brow, but before he could even open his mouth, I was back on the couch with the instrument strapped over my shoulder.  I skillfully ran my fingers over the strings, strumming a few chords before beginning a familiar song and singing:

 

 _“Have you lost your way,_

 _Livin’ in the shadow of the messes that you make?_

 _And so it goes,_

 _Everything inside your circle starts to overflow._

 _Take a step before you leap_

 _Into the colors that you seek._

 _You give back what you give away,_

 _So don’t look back on yesterday.”_

 

Tears filled Adam’s eyes as he looked over at me, a smile finally crossing those beautiful lips.  He harmonized with me while we sang the chorus:

 

 _“Wanna scream out,_

 _No more hiding._

 _Don’t be afraid of what’s inside._

 _Wanna tell ya, you’ll be alright_

 _In the Aftermath._

 _Anytime anybody pulls you down,_

 _Anytime anybody says you’re not allowed,_

 _Just remember you are not alone_

 _In the Aftermath.”_

 

Our voices grew stronger as we sang on.  When the song was over, Adam and I just sat there on the couch, looking at each other with such love in our eyes.  I think, by now, Adam realized that things would be okay from here on out, no matter how difficult the next several days might be.

Very slowly, and all the while gazing into Adam’s eyes, I set the guitar aside and took both of his hands in mine, squeezing them lightly.  Then, before I knew what was happening, Adam’s lips were on mine, his hands pressed to my face.  I resituated my sitting position on the couch so I could gain better access to this sweet kiss I was hopelessly lost in.  Long fingers tangled through my hair and I smiled as the kiss deepened.  Almost in unison, a guttural moan rolled out of Adam’s throat and I sighed contentedly.  I reached for him and our fingers entwined.  When Adam let go of my hand, I sat up straighter on the couch, and we broke the kiss.

“Feel better now?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do.”  Adam scooted closer to the edge of the couch and slumped forward so his elbows were balanced on his knees, his chin propped in his hands.  “Ya know,” he added, turning to face me, “that’s the first song I sang for her.  It was…just after she’d moved in, and she and I were talking over dinner, and I saw her scars.  She told me how she got them, and her problems with her self-esteem and everything.  I knew she was hurting—although not as much as it turned out to be, obviously.  I sang that song to her, and she felt better after.”

I was quiet for a moment, mulling over Adam’s words, trying to envision the occurrence he described.  “Babyboy, I am so—”

“Sorry?” he said softly.  One side of his mouth quirked up just the tiniest bit and he huffed out a small laugh.  “Don’t be.  There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.  Besides, it’s done and over with.  It’s time to just…it’s time to get on with things.  That’s why I’m calling the funeral home later, see where they recommend buying a headstone and having it carved.”

I wasn’t sure I was hearing him correctly.  One minute, he was dreading this entire funeral thing—you couldn’t even mention the word “funeral”—and now here he was, getting things all in high gear.  My eyes bugged out of my head in disbelief.  “Adam, you do realize that it’ll probably take several weeks to get one carved, right?”

“I don’t care.  The service is this weekend and I don’t care how much extra I have to pay to get it done by the weekend, but whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

This certainly wasn’t the way I would’ve gone about arranging a funeral, but when I saw the fierce determination in his eyes, I didn’t object.  I knew Adam well enough that, once he made up his mind about something, there was no trying to change it.  Period.


	22. Adam

Later that morning, before going to the kitchen to call the funeral home, I pulled Tommy into a tight hug, as if to steel myself for what I was about to do.  I closed my eyes and breathed in his familiar, sweet scent that always warmed me all over, and I buried my face in his shoulder, kissing the soft bare skin.

Tommy watched me take the business card from my wallet, and I dialed the number, holding the cordless phone between my ear and shoulder as I waited for an answer.

“Griggs Funeral Home and Chapel; this is Andrea.”

I still couldn’t help but smile at this girl’s perkiness.  “Andrea, this is Adam Lambert.  We met last week.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied.  “How are you?”

“I’m doing well.  Listen, I need to buy a headstone and have it carved by Saturday,” I explained.  “Now, I know that—”

 _“Saturday?”_ she repeated incredulously.  “Mr. Lambert, I really don’t think you’ll find a place that could do something like that on such short notice.  I mean, let’s be realistic here; the service is in _five days_.”

“I know that, but I don’t care.”

She sighed reluctantly and said, “Well, alright.  Tell you what: I’ll call the place we recommend most frequently to our clients and see what they can do.  Then I’ll call you back later today.  How’s that sound?”

“Wonderful.  Thanks so much for all your help in this,” I replied.  “I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied warmly.  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I hung up the phone and then turned to Tommy with a sigh.  “Well?” he asked.  “What’d she say?”

“She said that it would be nearly impossible to get a headstone carved and in the ground by Saturday afternoon.  But then I told her that it had to be done, no matter what.  So she’s gonna call me later, and we’re just gonna have to see what happens.”

Again, he came to me and put his arms around me, nuzzling his face into the hollow of my neck.  “Everything’s going to work out just fine, you’ll see.”  He gently kissed my forehead.  “Things worked out with the casket, didn’t they?”  I nodded and he gave me a reassuring smile.  “Then this will too.  I promise.  And have I ever broken a promise?”

“No.”  The beginning of a smile pulled at the corners of my mouth and I let it spread across my face and then I kissed him back.

 

It was going on five o’clock and Tommy and I were in the middle of our Japanese takeout when the phone rang.  I got up from the table to answer it.

“Adam, this is Andrea, from Griggs Funeral Home and—”

“Have you heard anything back yet?” I demanded, cutting her off midsentence.

“I have…”

“Great!  What’d they say?” I asked, my tone brightening considerably.

“They said that unfortunately, they won’t be able to have a headstone prepared in time for the burial service.”  My heart dropped into my stomach and I felt like I was going to be sick.  “But—”

“Yeah?”  _This better be good news,_ I thought cynically.

“They _can_ make a plaque to put into the ground instead.  Now, that’s gonna cost you a pretty penny, so—”

“I _said_ I didn’t care about the cost,” I reminded her.  “I don’t care if I have to…to…”

“I understand,” she said kindly.  “Just let them know what you want engraved on the plaque and it can be ready by the weekend.”

I sighed in relief.  “Ahh, thank you so much, Andrea.  I-I don’t know how I can ever repay you for all you’ve done for us.”

She laughed softly.  “Don’t even mention it.  That’s my job: to make the funeral process easier.”  There was a pause, during which I thanked her silently from the bottom of my heart, and then she said, “Now, all you really need to do is head down there, fill out a few forms, and let them know what you want engraved on the plaque.”

“Okay.”

“Should I set up an appointment?”

“Sure.”

“Uh, how’s Wednesday at three?”

“Wednesday sounds terrific,” I agreed, smiling.  “Just give me the address and I’ll be there.”

With that part of the process done and out of the way, Tommy and I just had to choose a marker and get it in the ground.  Putting the phone down, I walked back over to the table where Tommy sat, watching me, with one cheek propped in his hand.

“So.  Wednesday, huh?”

I tried to sound upbeat when I said, “Yup, Wednesday.”  Apparently I failed miserably when I sighed deeply and buried my head in my hands.  I pushed my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes.  “God, I just hope I’m ready for this…”

“Babyboy,” Tommy said, “we’ve come this far.  The end is within our sights and I know we can get through this.”  He slid his hand across the table and placed it on top of mine, rubbing his thumb on top of it in soft circles.  “ _You_ can get through this,” he corrected.

“Not without you, I can’t,” I said when I looked up at him, my voice trembling.

“You don’t have to.  I’ve always been here, and I always will be.”


	23. Tommy

In the days leading up to the funeral, I could see Adam beginning to slowly but surely fall apart.  He wasn’t eating, he didn’t sleep much, and he only left the apartment when absolutely necessary, but I didn’t blame him for that.  Whenever he did go somewhere, the paparazzi were all over him, more than usual.  Most nights, when he couldn’t sleep, I stayed up with him, just sitting in the bedroom and holding him, murmuring sweet nothings and words of comfort and reassurance.  As opposed to before, he didn’t cry anymore; he was just quiet, numb.  I was lucky if he said more than ten words to me in a day.  No matter how hard I tried, it’s like he just didn’t even know I was there.

On Wednesday afternoon, three days before the funeral, Adam finally spoke, for the first time in days.  He said, “Baby, I’m going to see about that plaque for Christie’s grave.  Do you wanna come with me?”  He was already up off the couch and looking for his wallet and keys.

“Well—yeah, sure.  I mean, if you want me to,” I said carefully.  I followed him into the back hallway.

“Come on, then.”  He turned and took my hand, glancing at me for a split second and flashing a tiny smile.

It took us nearly a full thirty minutes to get to the place where we were going to choose the plaque.  Once inside, we met with a man who would be in charge of making the plaque.  Adam and I both decided that we would put the chorus of _“Aftermath”_ on the plaque, except we added an extra “you are not alone” at the end of the lyrics.  We also included _“Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend.  Rest in peace, Christine.”_

Andrea was right—putting the plaque on rush-order cost Adam and me _a lot_ of money.  But, like the casket, it was totally worth it.  Christie was worth it.

We left the building in the rain, and we both couldn’t help but laugh as we ran for the warmth and dryness of our car.  I fumbled with the keys, trying to find the “unlock” button while an impatient and soaking-wet Adam jerked at the door handle, as if that was going to make a difference.

“C’mon, babe, unlock the damn door!” he shouted over the rain and approaching thunder.  He let go of the handle to wrap his arms around himself just as I finally unlocked the car and we both got inside.

While I was laughing hysterically at how ridiculous Adam looked—eye makeup starting to run, his dark hair dripping wet and clinging to his head, and the funniest but cutest look of annoyance on his face—he just sat sullenly in the passenger seat, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Look what you did to my hair!” he whined, but with a playful smirk on his face as he reached over and tugged at the longer shock of hair on the left side of my head.  “How do ya like that, huh?  Huh?!”  I put my arms up in an attempt to fight him off, but let’s face it—he’s bigger than me, he’s stronger than me—it’s a losing battle.

In those few moments, through the layers of sadness and pain, I saw the old Adam.  The Adam that I knew and loved with all my heart.  In those few moments, his loud, ringing laughter returned and his smile reached his sparkling blue-gray eyes.  Then he pulled his hands away from my hair, still with that silly grin on his face, but I just sat there, gazing at him in wonderment.

“What?”  The smile slowly faded and he pushed his fingers through his dripping-wet hair.

I shook my head, still a bit dumbfounded.  “Nothing,” I murmured.  “It’s nothing.  Just…you.  Laughing.  Thought I’d never hear it like that again.”

For a very long moment, Adam just sat there, looking at me.  “Oh.  Guess I’m—” He sighed deeply and then turned to look at me again.  “Tommy,” he said, “lately, when I’m with you, it’s like…I feel…better, in a way."  He leaned his head against the window and added, “It’s weird, ya know, after feeling so low and guilty, in a way, that suddenly I feel _alive_ again.”

I smiled and reached to embrace him.  “You’ll get there,” I whispered in his ear, stroking his damp locks.  “It just takes time.  But in the end, you’ll be alright.”

 

After we got back to my apartment, we had dinner, but this time I let Adam cook, which turned out to be a _huge_ mistake because he almost burned the place down; smoke alarms were going off, I got out the fire extinguisher and hosed down the stove.  Once the flames were out, I laid the fire extinguisher down on the kitchen counter and went to inspect our now-inedible meal.

Adam shook his head and chuckled, “I told you I shouldn’t have cooked.  And look what happened: disaster.”

Once I stopped laughing so hard I almost couldn’t breathe, I asked, “You wanna order some takeout?”

“Do we have any other choice?”

“I suppose not.”

“Japanese?”

“You know it!”  I grinned.

Adam picked up the cordless phone in the kitchen and called our favorite Japanese takeout restaurant.  We ordered teriyaki tofu, some broiled shitake mushrooms, veggie stir fry, and plenty of rice.  We had the food delivered, and when it arrived, we settled down on the couch and ate the stuff right out of the cartons and watched reruns of _“Gossip Girl”_.


	24. Adam

It was around eleven when I finally turned the TV off.  Tommy was half asleep, curled up next to me, head on my lap and arms wrapped around my waist.  I smiled down at him and carded my fingers through his hair.  He opened his big chocolate-colored eyes and grinned sleepily.  I leaned down and pressed a feather-soft kiss to his lips.

“It’s time for bed,” I whispered.  He nodded slowly and sat up even slower.  I grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet.

Together, we finished cleaning up the kitchen, and then got changed for bed.  As we laid there under the covers, Tommy turned to me, now very much awake.  I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

“Are you—?”

See?

Exasperated, I sighed deeply and slammed my head into the pillow.  “Tommy.”  I looked him straight in the eye.  “ _I…am…fine._   Got that?  I’m okay.”  I smiled, however halfheartedly, to prove this to him.

“Adam, the funeral’s in—”

“Three days.  I know.”

“When that day comes, you are most certainly _not_ going to be ‘fine’.  I think I know you that well.”

“I’m sure you do.  But I think I can handle this.  Just trust me, ‘kay?”

Tommy closed his eyes and drew his lips into a tight line, clearly very frustrated, but I would be fine.  I just had to be.  For her.

 

Saturday came before I even knew what happened.  The day before, I went down to the funeral home with an outfit for Christie to wear—a black off-the-shoulder sweater, dark-wash skinny jeans, and silver ballet flats.  It was one of her favorites, one that she looked really good in.  The makeup artist applied a very natural look, but made sure to include her pink Juicy Tubes strawberry-flavored lip gloss, something I had requested myself.  They even gave her a French manicure.

I barely slept a wink the night before and thus looked like total shit in the morning.  I went through the motions of my morning routine: shower, get dressed, do my hair, put on my makeup.  I didn’t bother to eat; if I did, I was sure to be sick.  And that was not something I could afford today.  Tommy and I went back to my apartment about an hour and a half before the service to get one of my best suits, and this time I actually grew some balls and went into the place.

The minute I walked through the door, I was bombarded with memories—Christie and I cleaning the apartment and singing along with the radio at the top of our lungs; movie nights on the couch with extra-butter popcorn and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream; and just watching her as she danced around her room when she should’ve been practicing her nightly set lists for her gigs at the coffee shop.

I wandered mindlessly into her bedroom.  Her double bed, with its yellow butterfly down quilt and pillows, remained unmade.  For whatever reason, some strange unexplainable force pulled me towards the bed and I started to make it back up, pulling up the sheets and the blanket, rearranging the pillows.  Then I bent down and gathered up the clothes that needed to be put away.  Some I put in drawers and others I hung in her closet.  Once I was standing in the doorway again, I looked around the room for a second time.  It was like everything was just right there, waiting for her to come home.

I left the room to find Tommy finishing up washing the dishes that were still in the kitchen sink.  “You don’t have to do that,” I said softly, approaching him.

“Don’t worry about it; I’m almost done,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at me.  “Why don’t you go and get changed?”

I just nodded and walked quietly to my room, bypassing the bathroom, not even looking in its general direction.  Going into my room felt just as foreign as going into Christie’s.  My bags were still on the floor, still packed, exactly where I’d dropped them when I came home that afternoon.  I didn’t bother with them, just went straight to the closet to search for an appropriate suit to wear.  Tommy was already dressed and ready to go, so now it was just me.  I swear, I think I probably stood there in the middle of that closet for a good ten minutes before I even moved toward a rack of clothing.

I looked around at all the outrageous outfits I wore on tour, and the other clothes sitting in the deepest, darkest corners of the closet that I hadn’t worn in God knows how long.  Now, usually, I’m pretty fashion-savvy, but this time, I was completely at a loss.  Finally, Tommy’s voice jerked me out of my thoughts.

“You’re not dressed.”

I could only shake my head.  It felt like I was frozen in place and the words I could’ve said dried in my throat before I could speak them.  Tommy was right; there was no way that someone—not even Superman, I bet—could be “fine” just barely an hour before going to their best friend’s funeral.

Then I felt his warm arms encircle my waist.  “Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispered in my ear, and then kissed the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck.  “You said so yourself.”

Finally, I found my voice.  “Yeah, well, now I’m not so sure,” I mumbled.

“And that’s _okay_ ,” he assured me.  There was a long silence between us, during which we just stood there, gazing at each other.  He had this funny look on his face, like he was studying me.  Maybe he was trying to transfer that particular concept into my mind via ESP, or something.  Tommy broke that silence by taking my face in his hands and kissing me gently, almost _too_ gently for my taste, and then said, “Come on, let’s get you dressed.  We don’t have a lot of time.”

I glanced over at the digital clock beside my bed, noticing the red numbers that revealed the time to be twelve-thirty, on the dot.  Thirty minutes.  I had thirty minutes to get dressed and pull myself together before going down to that funeral home to say goodbye to Christie for the very last time.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Tommy and I were out the door and in the car, on our way to the funeral home.  I sat ramrod-straight in my seat and tried to keep breathing as my heart was going at about a thousand beats a second.  With the back of my hand, I wiped away the few droplets of sweat that had broken out on my brow.  I glanced down at my watch.

“Just relax,” Tommy instructed softly.  “We’ll make it there in plenty of time.  Besides, it’s the viewing that starts at one, not the actual service.  That’s at two.”

“Relax.”  I scoffed.  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered from between clenched teeth.

“I know.”

“No, Tommy, you _don’t_ know,” I replied firmly.  “This is killing me.  It’s tortured me ever since that first day we went to the hospital.  I don’t know, maybe she was right; maybe this would’ve happened anyway, maybe her time was up from the minute she picked up that razor.”  I paused, tilting my head up and blinking to keep the building tears from falling, but they just leaked out the corners of my eyes instead.

“Adam, you couldn’t have known—”

“But that’s just it, baby.  I’ll never know now.”

Silence ensued for the rest of the drive.  Tires squealing, we pulled into the parking lot at five ‘til one.  Then something hit me like a ton of bricks and I stopped in my tracks.  Tommy put his hand on my shoulder and tried to coax me along.

“Come on, babe, it’s time.”

“No.”

“Adam—”

“I just realized something,” I said monotonously.

“What?”

“I don’t have a eulogy prepared.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I muttered, shaking my head.  “What am I gonna do?”

Tommy was quiet for a moment before answering, “Just…say what you feel.  Monte’s here; maybe he’ll play and you can sing ‘Aftermath’.  Or you could do both.  It’s just up to you, really.”

I nodded and we continued up the steps to the front doors.  I took a deep breath and Tommy laced his fingers through mine.

 _Here goes nothing,_ I thought to myself.

Inside, the funeral parlor was packed with people—Christie’s family and friends, my family, my band.  The place was an explosion of color, with flowers everywhere.  Slowly, Tommy and I walked further into the parlor.  My mother was the first person to come over to us.  She threw her arms around me and kissed my forehead.

“Adam.”  She looked at me with tear-filled eyes.  Just the way she looked at me said everything.  She cupped the side of my face in her hand and managed a comforting smile.  “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

I turned just a little, and that’s when I saw it.  The casket.  The one I had painstakingly chosen and practically sold my soul for.  It was even more perfect now than when I had first bought it.  Perhaps that was because of the angel it was holding now.  I stumbled past the rest of the mourners and crashed to my knees in front of it, taking Christie’s soft, cool hand in mine.  By now, the tears were flowing freely (thank God I was wearing waterproof eyeliner and mascara) and I rested my forehead on the edge of the casket.  Time had stopped as I knelt before my friend, gasping for breath in between sobs.  I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but I didn’t care.  It didn’t matter.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I looked behind me to see Monte, his blue eyes full of sadness.

“I’m so sorry, man,” he said gently.  “I know how close you guys were, how much she meant to you.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “I appreciate that.”  I stood up then and asked, “Hey, you didn’t happen to bring your guitar, did you?”

“Actually, yeah, it’s in my car.  Why?”

“Well, during the eulogy I kinda wanted to sing ‘Aftermath’.  But that was only if you had your guitar, and since you do, I can do that now.”

“Sure thing.  I’ll go and get it before the service starts.”

“Great.  It was kind of a special thing between Christie and me, and I thought it would be appropriate.”

“Whatever you need right now,” he said, wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug.  Then he walked away to rejoin Cam, Longenieu, and everyone else.

About a half-hour later, right before the funeral was about to begin, my heart started racing again.  _This must be what a heart attack feels like,_ I thought, panicking.  I jumped when I felt someone’s hand on the small of my back.

“Babyboy, you’re trembling,” Tommy said worriedly.  “Are you alright?”

I scrunched my eyes shut and swallowed hard.  “Yeah.  I’m fine.  Just nervous, that’s all.”

“Don’t be.  Christie wouldn’t want you to be nervous.  She wouldn’t want you to be worried; she wouldn’t want you to be scared.  Just think of it as a gig—you get butterflies, sure, but you don’t get scared.  At least, not the Adam Lambert I know.”

I turned to face him and smiled through the tears that brimmed in my eyes and were on the verge of falling.  I’d learned recently that it was best to just let them fall instead of trying to fight them, no matter how bad I wanted to put on a brave face.

I heard the minister’s opening words.  “We are gathered here today…”

“That’s your cue, baby,” Tommy whispered.  “It’s time to go.”  He held his hand out to me and I took it willingly, and together, we entered through one of the side doors of the chapel and went to sit in the front row.

“…To celebrate the life of Christine Alexandria Neumann…”

 _Celebrate,_ I thought cynically.  _This is a funeral, not a birthday party!_   On top of the indescribable grief, I could feel a twinge of rage bubbling deep inside me.  What was wrong with this guy?!

“Adam,” Tommy hissed from where he sat beside me.  I jerked my head in his direction, after being so absorbed in my thoughts.  “Get up there.”

I stood up, but I was so lightheaded that I felt like I would just fall back down.  Tommy gave me a gentle shove and an encouraging look before I turned and walked the ten steps it took for me to reach the podium up front.  You’d think I’m used to crowds…not like this, I’m not.  I’m a singer, folks, not a public speaker.

The microphone screeched when I adjusted it to my height and the high-pitched noise made me wince.  I wasn’t exactly looking at the people in front of me, but I could imagine the momentary grimaces on their faces.  I took a deep breath.

“I didn’t exactly come prepared for this,” I admitted, blushing furiously, “but…I think Christie would understand.”  The feel of her name on my lips felt like fire, so I licked them, thus removing most of my clear lip gloss before continuing.  “So I’m just gonna start by saying that she was, first and foremost, my best friend.  She was always right there for me whenever I needed someone, and I really hope she knows that, wherever she is, I was there for her in return.  Christie was one of the most carefree, lively, ambitious people I’ve ever met.  She always wanted to be a recording artist, and she tried, but she ended up singing in a coffeehouse instead.  But she was so good.  She—” The smile I’d been wearing for the past few minutes disappeared and I felt the tears return and a knot form in my throat, nearly choking me to death.

Before I could say another word, I searched the dozens of faces for Tommy.  I didn’t realize that he was practically sitting right in front of me because I was so focused on what I was saying and also trying not to break down at the same time.

“Ahh, y’know, I’m just gonna quit talking right now and instead, I’m going to sing something for you all.  It was the first song I sang for Christie, and it’s called ‘Aftermath’.  It’s about self-acceptance, being able to love yourself no matter how many times you screw up or, in Christie’s case, if you’re in a bad place, but trying to find a way to see how you can come out the other side a better, stronger person.”

I searched for Monte, who was seated with the rest of the band, a few rows behind Tommy.  I nodded at him and he stood and came forward as I stepped down from the podium.  He strummed his guitar for a few seconds before beginning the opening chords of the song, and then I took a deep, shuddering breath and started to sing.


	25. Aftermath

Upon opening my eyes, I realized where I was.  I was in a funeral home, the place smelling of roses.  I looked around; there was no one in sight, so I sat up and climbed out of the ornate box I had been placed in.  I looked down at myself; I was dressed in my favorite outfit: my black cashmere off-the-shoulder sweater, skinny jeans, and my silver ballet flats.  When I looked at my hands, I saw that I had been given a French manicure.  Adam certainly knew what I liked.

Music was playing somewhere nearby, and I heard a familiar voice and a song that gave me chills.  _Adam,_ I thought.  _He’s here._   I broke out into a sprint down the short hallway and burst through the doors, but it seemed that I simply floated right through them.

 _Christie, you’re dead, remember?_   Ah, Mr. Jiminy Cricket.  Even now I could hear him.  I chuckled to myself as I made my way down the aisle of the small chapel.  Looking around, I saw that everyone was here—Mom and Dad and Cassie; all my friends from college and some from high school; Adam’s mom and brother; Tommy and the rest of Adam’s band.  Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I lightly touched the side of my face.  I didn’t know that I could still cry.  I brushed the tears away and kept walking, closer to where Adam and Monte were.  Tommy was sitting in the front row of the chapel and I sat down next to him.  I lightly touched his hand, but then remembered that he couldn’t feel me; he didn’t even know I was here.  And neither did Adam.

As Adam continued to sing and his voice filled the room, I closed my eyes and my mind drifted back to the first time he sang that song for me.  I had been hurting so badly, and for a fleeting moment, hearing that song and the message it conveyed made me forget that I just wanted to give up on everything and leave this world behind.  But now I had, and I deeply regretted my horrible choice.  Never again would I be able to see his face or hear his voice; I would miss out on all the fun things we used to do together, all the wonderful memories we could’ve made.

I looked up and when my attention refocused on him, I saw that he was crying.  Now I realized how much pain I had caused him, and I hated myself for that.  Then I heard the words “Gonna tell ya you’ll be alright in the aftermath.  Anytime anybody pulls you down, anytime anybody says you’re not allowed, just remember you are not alone in the aftermath.  You are not alone…you are not alone…”

When he stopped singing, he hung his head, trying to hide the tears he had shed, and all I wanted to do was get up and run to him and throw my arms around him.  I did just that and whispered, “I love you, Adam.  I’ll miss you.”  He stiffened suddenly, his eyes widening just a little.  I instantly recoiled from him and stumbled backwards, into the shadows.

 _Shit!  That was a HUGE mistake!  Did he actually feel me?!_ I wondered incredulously.

I watched cautiously as he smiled at everyone and returned to his seat.  Tommy put his arm around him and held him close.  Meanwhile, the minister walked back up front and made a few closing remarks before ending the service.  That’s when I decided that it was time for me to go back out to the front room, to return to my body before I caused any more trouble.  I dashed back outside just as everyone else stood up to leave the chapel.

 _Whew, that was close!  Too close!_ I gasped while climbing back into the casket and resting my head on the soft satin pillow.

Soon, someone had closed the top half of the casket, but I could still hear voices outside.  Then, all of a sudden, I was being lifted up and carried somewhere.  _This is it.  This is the end._   Tears pooled in my eyes again.  _I’ve lived a good life, though.  Except for that one stupid— NO!  I’m not going to think like that.  Not anymore.  My life has been full of so many good things: singing at the coffee shop (although that’s not exactly what I’d hoped for in the first place), having fun with the rest of my bartending buddies, and Adam.  He changed my life for better.  I’ll miss him every day, and I know he’ll miss me, but like he said: I’m not alone.  And neither is he._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you weren’t expecting that, were ya?? Yeah, this little Glam Kitty Kat’s got some tricks up her sleeve! Let me know what you thought about this little masterpiece, and let me know if you have any other suggestions/requests for other possible Adommy-centered fics.

**Author's Note:**

> (Oh, and just thought I oughtta add this sad, heartbreaking newsflash, just for the record, and so I don’t get in trouble—I don’t own Adam. Or Tommy, when he comes along. *SOB!* But I’m working on it. It’s one of my official life goals.)


End file.
